Fickle Vignettes

Vignette of Naive Creatures

There was this light expression like she was wondering where the wind on her face was blowing from. The gentle buffets were of a childlike, river air flowing against both sides of her face. Her eyes grew wet from it.

She sat down on a bench in the park and stared at the opera of lights on her eyelids. Dreams of leaves shaking above her became alive in her mind's eye. They looked like naive creatures shifting and contorting.

Then, as she became aware of her own prescence, it was joined by another. Her eyes fastened, she sensed a phantom take the space beside her. Quietly she tried not to give it form, a wish whispered softer than the breeze on a dandelion drifting.

For a time, she chased the ghost of her dandelion as it was caught in the air.

Someone in the distance said her name. The wind dropped like a stone. A swelling built in her gut as she tried desperately to coil herself back together again before anyone could see inside her to where a naive creature swayed.

And there was an agonisingly beautiful moment when for a brief second of time, the phantom beside her rose to her name and she stayed fixed in place. For just the smallest moment.

Then Jean got up and walked away.