Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Pastorale



They went to this place often. The old corral, weather worn and dilapidated, stood off the dirt road, in the field of magenta and lemon-colored wildflowers. Red damsel flies and rusty-hued butterflies darted about. The waist tall grasses, even in early summer, were tinder dry and snapped beneath their feet. They walked quietly, absorbing the sun and the passion of their fantasies. The corral, a broken jumble of unpainted wood grain and sagging rafters, stood like a skeleton in the field. Open floorboards creaked and tipped beneath their bare feet. It was here, in the dappled light, in the ancient smell of horse shit, lichen and rotting timbers that they fucked like horses, like swallows, like rattlesnakes, like cicadas, like every animal that ever fucked. Then, they left, the evidence of their meeting drying in the high desert air.

7 comments:

  1. Beautiful, as always, BAK! Thanks for sharing.

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  2. err*

    is it just my naughty dirty wicked mind..or is that mister bak himself along with gina marie herself????..i dont wanna be rude by asking that but i ..i just had to ask..:-)

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  3. Thank YOU! So much beauty and joy to be found, in this life. Just need to keep heart and mind open and receptive and willing to take chances....

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  4. Danielle, I like your wicked mind. My legal department advises me to avoid a direct response to your question....

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  5. Red damsel flies! One day we'll capture one and make it pose.

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  6. Two legs over it's head, two legs spread like frog legs, two legs doing other things.....

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  7. ha! i like my wicked mind too..a lot!:-)

    and no answer is an answer too sometimes..:-)

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