The road coughed up dust like a cat a hairball, neither pleasant and both lasting too long. I'd traveled the same baked mud for ten days on an incline that wore at the soul. When the horizon fell away, however, a new land unrolling like a tapestry, I remembered why.
We met one wild, windy evening outside the theatre, her temporary home. Dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt, she exuded the careless abandon of the dancer she was, uncontainable, free spirited. For two weeks, I knew her world, her life. Hey-ho, two weeks was better than none.
Shouts of dismay
The sounds of life
(Image courtesy c4eo.org.uk and Goggle images)