Mischief

skirt of an angel (2)

A whisper of hello, she shimmered as if I’d startled her, eyes tiny pools with mischief dancing in time to her swirl, waiting to see if my eyes followed her or if perhaps I was only speaking to the voices singing softly in a babble. Grinning at the distorted trees wavering in her light, I said, I see you, eyebrows raising with an instant ornery glee. Father will be so mad at me, she said with a burst of mirth, spinning in a happy blur, rainbow sparks flying from her glow, laughter twinkling between the leaves, as soft pink becomes orange glory, sunshine meshing with purple haze, and neon green deepening into a blue jazz only she heard. Oh, but to breathe in the pine and decay and flowers, I’ve missed it so-o-o-o, she said, climbing an imaginary stair, swirling down the neck of a tree, a barbershop pole of rainbow color, her laughter melting into a puddle, merging into the river below with a swish of a rainbow trout’s tail, with only bubbles reaching the surface to burst with the joy of existing, even if only, just for a moment.

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4 thoughts on “Mischief

  1. Deb, where is your head? Because I think it must be in a fantasy land of epic proportion. I want to be there, too. Where’s my invitation???

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