The First Time.

It was a hot day but the Gods were kinder towards the evening which brought with it lots of clouds and a very cool breeze.

She was watching a show on TV when she saw the trees, from the big living room window, swaying with the wind. She grinned, switched off the TV and ran to the topmost terrace of her house.

It was beautiful outside and her hair, however short, danced to the tune the winds decided to play.
She pranced around on the terrace, feeling the coolness of the evening, the warmth of the setting sun and the calm of the clouds flitting above.

She then came to stand near the railing of her terrace. With her back against the brick railing, she stood, bending backwards, looking only at the clouds. She had positioned herself at such an angle that all that filled her line of sight was the endless, magnificent sky. She looked at it, breathed deep breaths and then she closed her eyes. She was flying. Flying high.

Terrace in Rain

And then she felt drops of water on her face… and her wings.
But she didn’t stop flying. Flying high.

She opened her eyes and smiled at somebody hiding behind those clouds. She closed her eyes right again and folded her arms across her chest, holding herself. And then she turned around, opened her eyes and looked.

Looked right into his eyes. He who was looking at her from the terrace of the house across from her own. She froze but the smile never left her face.

He waved.


This post is here because I felt I needed to post something on this blog.
I wrote the first word of this post with a blank mind and then the story progressed and remains quite unfinished. The question, however, is do you want a definite end or do you want to discover the meandering paths of your own imagination?


Painting by Henri Martin.
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