. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Thursday 13 December 2007


Green. The colour of summer. The grass beneath my feet, between my toes, cool and spongy and winter boots but a distant memory despite the long wait for the green season. I close my eyes and breath in the sun which passes through me right down to my toes. The result: my lower digits wiggle with glee, sending a smile up to my lips. Elation.

There’s a place I call my own (though I’ve been fortunate that the elusive owners have never dropped in on a whim) where I remove my articles of clothing one by one and lay naked on the prairie grass by the brook. I tell myself it’s only fair that my toes not selfishly delight in so much pleasure. The corporeal area not forming a figure in the vegetation receives the unparalleled pleasure of the summer breeze, every peak and valley experiencing invisible ecstasy.

Buried in the big white, I dream of green...

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