Calypso

Calypso

She stands on the edge of the ocean. Long dark hair is gently blown away from her fair face and sea green eyes search the ocean, almost desperately. A long white dress is draped over her slender form, but far from hides it. She is far from beautiful, which is too mundane a word for her, but it is the only word that comes close. Though she lives on a tropical island, she is fair, and her skin is perfectly flawless. High cheekbones and the long, dark lashes that brush them are only a part of her beauty.

She soon continues walking along the beach, nothing daring to disturb her peace. The sand does not slip from under her feet, but rather holds her as though she did not walk on it. She has long fingers that weave together a chain of flowers as she walks. She seems to find what she has been searching for, but not quite. One pale, slender foot steps onto a long, flat rock that juts into the sea. She stands silently, dangerously close to the edge, where sea mist sprays upon her. But she does not mind. This is her island. Nothing here happens if she does not want it to. She again turns her eyes to the sea. They flit over every wave’s crest, and the dark, silent waters further out. Apparently what she is looking for is not there, for she sits on the edge, her perfect feet dangling above the potentially dangerous waters.

Then, she begins to sing. Softly at first, but then growing in volume. It is a siren’s song to lost sailors. Sweet and beautiful. Her eyes close, but her song continues. It’s notes are graceful, elegant, haunting. It is woven together with a precision that has undoubtedly been practiced many times.

Her eyes flick open once again and are instantly searching the ocean again.

Her song stops.

A ship appears on the horizon.

Hope flickers in her eyes.

Calypso.