In The Sand

January 30, 2005

I saw you dancing in the sand. To the faint sounds of a pipe from a distant canyon where another was dreaming, you spun and whirled, wrapping sunlight about you. You wore the white cloak to shield you from the desert’s sun but it became more than a mere protector. The flowing garment accented and followed your movements with ripples as slow as water, giving your dance a mystic, ethereal appearance. When your eyes caught mine hiding in the brush, your lips turned in a tiny smile and you danced closer. When your mouth met mine, I gasped a muffled breath. I had come only to savor your beauty as I had for years. Now I found in you the thing of which I had never dreamed. I turned and ran, not even looking again at the path I’d taken. When I finally did turn my head, you were smiling that strange smile again. You returned to your dance and I ascended the rocks high above to watch awhile longer, soon finding I could see the musician as well. He was in the Cave of the Sun, far to the east. I could see his pipe weave in lazy circles as his fingers touched the beautiful notes. I watched your duet for a time then climbed away.

Sometimes, I wish I had remained on that day and kept the heart I had found, that I’d kept those lips that had kissed mine so long ago. Often, I wonder if you hear my pipe as I play for you in the old cave just as the ancient, my teacher, had done once.

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