Strayed Thoughts on a Stationary Night
The karma of living with an untamed wife, Eddie thinks this through and plays dead. Sylvia lies still while hunting in her head. When it’s time to go, this feline stomps the shiny parquet, two heavy paws crossing the length of the stairs with the audacity of a burglar. The stampede reverberates on the wall and in his ears.
Supine in their new bed, his gaze turns to the window and catches the flashes of lightning in the distance. Yonder the rain needles are kicking the clouds to spit them on some dreary town. She can’t be very far. It pains him to think that he is attracted to her feverish eyes. Her careless ways are thrills that bring him down without soliciting. Very French.
The night drags. It bears the silence of a broken glass. The weather vane is frozen by the wind and the birds and the insects are not talking. Before dawn breaks, she will sidle her way through, coy and furtive. He will pretend to be asleep, listening to the singing of the crickets in his head. Her bravery never flinching.
Jay Coral is the imaginary author of Cure for the Incurable Romantic. Sorry, he does not give seminar nor advice to anything related to the matters of the heart. He has some words to say otherwise at http://bluejayeye.blogspot.com/