French Still Life - Janet Webb (c)
She loved to dance, especially in a small space
- our space - (but really her space)
- on highly polished floor boards.
High heels sliding and a dizzy swirl of swishing skirt and
flying, long drop earrings,
spun her into ecstasy.
And her favourite place to dance was in the little pub by the sea.
Dark night views outside...
and
candle light flickering in the tall glass,
mirroring and framing our wheel of romance...
never failed to lift our souls on heavenly wings.
Till one night,
just her earrings,
alone...
(by a candle,
unlit
in a small window)...
still danced...
blissfully?
(99 words)
Linking to:
Friday Fictioneers
7 comments:
Well written and a great take on the prompt.
Tracey
Very beautifully and evocatively penned - perhaps she is still dancing in another world :)
Dear Gemma,
Lovely verse. I can see her dancing. Poignant ending. And a hearty welcome to Friday Fictioneers I believe is in order. I look forward to reading more of your words.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Beautiful, very beautiful!
The question mark at the end has left me wondering. I like an open end! Excellent
Please click to read my FriFic
One can feel the sorrow and loss keenly.
I know the feeling of once having danced... I wonder if I could.
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