Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Seascape

The pain is sweet celebration but nonetheless hard to bear as her labour is too long, no husband to hold her hand, no mother to wipe her brow but persist she does.  She does what women do when that urge to push kicks in, grips tight with maternal courage, knowing of the reward. The child breaches and is quiet. Concerned faces gasp at his palour but under lights he's moved to intensive care and she is tended by the tenderest of obstetricians but misses the touch of the lover who dares not attend the birth of his firstborn child.

Neptune's son was warned that landing on antipodean shores this way is dangerous and illegal. His kind are not welcome there. It was a careless and frivolous pursuit but navigate he did, alone and unaccompanied save the guidance of migrating behemoth's who make the sojourn south each year, encouraging him on his path with whaling song.  Unwavering from his course he forges his aquatic path, drawn by the siren's unsung lyric.

Long had he watched her, brown-brazen on the beach. She was often alone, bathed in, solaris' light, her body goldened by the sun but still a daughter of Terra Firma and not to be taken lightly by the likes of him an extra terrestrial of a different kind.

She gazes across an unending sea, its ripples and bouncing light creating illusions as it dances. She longs to see a fin, a fluke, a man, among the glimmer-glow of the ever changing surface.  But no, just the crest of gently breaking waves and she becomes bored and rests, reading romance novels beneath the eye of Sol. She sleeps, listless on the sand, soaking rays, relaxed yet unrequited.

He's watched her there, often, but coming ashore in the light of day to perilous for an alien such as he, so he bobs among the warm waves, tasting their salt  and craving dryness, admiring from afar and cogitating landfall.

Night presents a different view, with agile limbs he leaves his watery abode, runs rampant on the beach and watches through windowlight as she reads and cooks and bathes. So beautiful is this full-bodied creature his gaze is glazed and he and cannot resist her charms.

Days go by and as he sees her pack belongings into her valise he realises that he must  appear or be forsaken. Her stay here is impermanent and the sylph will leave before he has a chance to demonstrate affection.

She walks a lonely walk comforted by the lonely moon in all her gibbous glory. Waves licking upon the sand demure and seductive. The air perfumed with the scent of Frangipani, Coconut and salt.  Barefoot, the sand caresses and depresses between delicious toes, Hibiscus in her hair, she wonders alone with no-one to share her grace or thoughts.

She hears footfall behind. A sound that might alarm, does not, in this isolated place. She turns and there he is.  Nervous greetings are dispensed and beach combing engaged without a qualm. He is beautiful, feminine but strong, flawless yet flawed but she cannot work out why. And yet he takes her hand, as natural as night, she clasps his fingers amongst hers. And all feels perfect, natural, light.

Conversation turns to love, lost and regained. They run, they chase, they play while mother moon instills her gaze and casts an eerie spell.

On dunes they roll while making love, sweet and tender, discreet yet wild and free. He is a gentle  lover, she is a willing slave and lush is their encounter to the sound of breaking waves. They hold, stop, still, sleep.

By dawn he has gone. She is left there dozing  on the shore in morning's golden light, seaweed tangled in her hair, errant translucent rainbow scales shimmer on her skin and a shell of such exquisite form  is left within her palm. She's seen nothing like it ever before, engraved  with words she does not understand yet knows are poignant beyond belief. The rarity and value of such a gift not lost after their night of forbidden love.

Her baby now folded in her arms. Beautiful and benign, sleeping like the depths. A picture-perfect cherubim with wild blonde hair unusual for a newborn. He bears bow lips pursed and pout. She inspects this miracle of life, unwrapping every fold. She gently fingers each detail of nature's abundant miracle. He is translucent, perfect, unblemished, ten fingers but   . . .  tiny webs between them and . . . no toes.

This is a 10th Daughter of Memory entry for "Below the Neck"

9 comments:

  1. 'Bout time we had some proper mythology again.

    Very nice. You are definitely developing a distinct style.

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  2. Duck me, baby. Oh dear, did I say that out loud? I apologize. But really, old "Flipper" reruns never affected me this way!

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  3. nice. i like the webs between them...have often wondered what it would be like to live beneath the waves...really enjoying your descriptors as well...

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  4. great story telling here. The gods have all the fun

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  5. Tom's right. The gods do have all the fun. And often, they take a mortal along for the ride. Neptune no doubt learned much watching his brother Jupiter.

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  6. GREAT story. My men and I really enjoyed Percy Jackson: Lightning Thief. I love mythology! Very nice job :-)

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  7. okay honeyhells, i'm here. i have to come back to READ your story but i'm here and i'm happy to be here. i'm happy to participate and i will like even the critcisms....

    :)
    love
    kj

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  8. Great story. Vivid detail, smooth movement. Very enjoyable. I particularly liked the shell he left behind; made it so much more real.

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  9. Lush story. It hooks you in until the end leaving you to want more.

    All your stories are fantastic and I miss your banter. How is it going being a MIL? Just you wait because when the wee wittle ones come then you will find the greatest joy in life. Just pure love and then you can send them home.

    Thanks for your nice words about me taking over TT and I hope I can get it going again.

    God bless.

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