The beginning of the dawn or the end of the night

Gwenno hadn’t alluded to the text from the other night. Oh dear, another miss-send. Or maybe she wasn’t that responsive to the chorusing dawn. Leave it unsaid; things expressed in that state were better left to that state. He didn’t want to vocalise it, nor envision the moment he woke up in a car boot in the car park of some industrial estate cash & carry.

The sticky sap from the Lyme tree nearly fooled them that it was raining. Noticing it for the first time that day, they looked up at its quivery ultra-green leaves. Rhodri was mesmerised by the way it stood in the bed of its own blossom.  Adding a new dimension to its beauty and provoking him to wonder why humans didn’t form a nourishing base around themselves to help them grow. Perhaps it is because we are always moving. The human condition ever exacerbated by the deficiency of stillness.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, looking at him as she twirled the single long strand of purple-black hair which stood apart from the shorter hair, lace-whirled and tied at the end with a feather at her clavicle.

“Checking for keys,” he murmured as he began marching home. Gwenno leapt to his pace as graceful as a Gazelle in spite of the boots. In fact, she was more like a Blackbird, inquisitive and picking amongst the leaves. She always wanted to walk amongst obstacles: leaves, puddles, Rose gardens, mazes, forests (especially forests), and sand dunes. Asymmetry drew her as she repelled the straight, the narrow, the rigid form. Skew was her thing, hinges that weren’t quite parallel to the door. Free and feisty. Born of a million stars and dreams, and created from parents who knew love deeply. They had wanted to name her Star. And if it wasn’t for a cantankerous grandparent and their untimely death, that is what she would have been. Yet she didn’t hanker after sentiments especially when there was, at this moment, an offer of hot chocolate and the possibility of real coffee.

 

The early shop shutters were up; newspaper bundles lounged at roadsides. The chink and the purr of a milk float undulating through residential streets. His street maybe.

“Did you say you had milk?” Gwenno asked, “Because I could buy some now.”

“Yes, I have a goat in the back garden,” Rhodri said grinning.

“Really?”

“No. But I have milk.”

Walking the cambering avenue taxed danced-out legs. Life reminded them they hadn’t slept or eaten for hours, but Gwenno relished the sensation of a drum skin torso, tight and hollow. The waistband of her skirt slipping to her hips now that yesterday afternoon’s risotto had digested. It was her capable hour and she knew that she could do anything she wanted with some degree of success and a smaller margin of error. Who knew why? The next pile of leaves she kicked with her heel.

Rhodri stopped by a rickety gate and waited for her to register. He looked at her face and then to her playful kicking foot.

She paused and shifted all her weight onto one foot, “This is where you live?”

She had walked this way before but never imagined it was someone’s home.

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