River Mist

Florence Cardinal

There's something mystical about a river shrouded in mist. Early morning sun turned the horizon to a glowing orange and pink ribbon. Behind a shimmering translucent curtain, the river lurked in shadows. She followed a woodland trail out of the dawn and into that secluded silence where even the voice of the meadowlark was muted.

Last year, when they were young, they walked hand in hand down this path. Behind these opalescent draperies, they shared their first kiss and their first love as dampness settled on their bodies and seeped into the blanket of discarded clothing. Afterwards, they hurried home, laughing like children, as the sun burned the mist from the river valley.

His dark hair had curled in tight whorls from the dampness. His eyes caressed her, eyes that glowed with the embers of passion. Their smiles spoke of secrets concealed behind the veil of mist.

But their small river was never enough for him. Other mists hid other mysteries. He sought more fiery passions in distant lands. In her imagination she saw him walking out of the mist, whorls of dark hair curling, shirt soaked with mist. He was not alone.

There is something mystical about a river shrouded in mist. Behind that translucent veil magic awaits those who trod vague woodland paths.

He waited there on the edge of the silence. She closed her eyes. He reached out his hand, drew her into the humid stillness to lie in his arms, to be together and young again as mist settled on her skin.

Copyright ©2000 Florence Cardinal. All Rights Reserved.

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March, 2000 Issue #47

256 Words

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