Dancing on Time

Ariel's dancing stirs Kyra's memory of a better time.

Their small silver transport, hull scorched brunt umber with Tranquility's ochre tonguing, limped quietly toward dock, a mechanical reflection of the sentient cargo carried within her blackened belly. Kyra, exhausted, not in the exhilaration of battle fought, but in the utter dull weariness of fate rising relentless as spring tide, tried to keep her eyes open. She felt like a prisoner piling chained before the vast unerring ocean, unshod feet wet with inevitability, scampering crabs nipping her toes in hasty retreat, water moving inexorably of moon new, lapping ever upward with devilish gurgles and cold licks. Motionlessly, she sat; mindlessly she watched Ariel gamboling about; the images jingling like keys, as memories long locked away opened within the halls of her mind.

"May I have this dance," asked Zeke. He stood in the center of the room, a warm yellow glow highlighting his white tunic, his smile as bright as the ocean was wide. The hynerian exuded charm and grace, a trait he never seemed to have to work very hard to exhibit.

 

His bride of heart and soul smiled. And in that smile, two souls joined hands and feet moved not asunder to a beat known in the memory of love grown as branches in the tree of time. Kyra, peeked her small head over the railing, her nightgown kissing the wooden floor, her eyes wide in the dance of light and love playing out in the smooth movements below. She imagined whispers of endearment as grand leaned her head into papa's broad chest, her hair flowing as silk, his arm wrapped with care around her waist. A tear fell.

"Kyra? asked Ariel. "Why are you crying?"

Startled, Kyra looked up. Rubbing her eyes she said: "Was I crying?"

"Do you miss your mom too?" Ariel added, her eyes as big as saucers.

Kyra smiled, the memories of her mind dancing in the young expectant eyes before her. In a voice as sincere and warm as natural honey she spoke as one someplace else. "Yes, I miss my mom too."

 

Reviews

[AutumnStorm]

It seems somewhat odd to focus upon the first part of this posting, odd too given the second half to describe it as beautiful, but it is within the first that language delights and in the second that memory does. Most noticeably in any case. Devilish, before I forget, is such a wonderful word and used so well here within the equally attractive frame of gurgles and licks. Fabulous phrasing. Your command of metaphor is at a level rarely seen, always original, always wonderfully creative, often thrillingly elaborate, it is a prominent reason why your work is so enthralling. I've said it before which has no bearing on saying it again, :-), reading passages that your have written there are guaranteed and several, many, constant occasions where the words are quite simply mouthwatering, nightgowns that kiss to cite a further instance. 'His bride of heart and soul' is very special also, but the chapter as a whole is well-stocked. Bless her, both, them and you.

[[untitled]]

This prose is so like verse. it is liquid and has a harmony. It is beautiful writing.

[Lorraine Pearson]

I'm just jumping to random chapters as your bio suggests...though Kyra and Grand are in this one and in Kiss the Sun.... still, I'm enjoying the wisdom of this young one named Kyra-- I adore all she senses.
~Lorraiyne