Karan Henley Haugh, Ph. D. http://www.manuscriptsplus.com 1m 305
The views of this article are the perspective of the author and may not be reflective of Confessions of the Professions.
The sky was full of the stars burning quiet. No one was home but for her crocheting Grandma. She walked through the lush wet grasses in her bare feet, drawing their moisture up through her body as if she were a straw. She felt the moisture on her fingertips as she caressed the bushes and leaned over to sniff the myriad of tiny red rose buds. The thought overtook her. She let loose her breasts from her braless peasant dress. Then she bent over the roses feeling their smooth kisses and their piney embrace.
She lay on her back on the noon grass and moss of the forest. The birds tweeted above her. The stream with its odd set of creatures, caught as a girl, curled by. She felt the weight of the world on her chest. She loosened the peasant blouse around her breasts and let them flow out. The nipples squeezed together like morning glory blossoms. Yet they relaxed with the rays of the sun and were free. Then she likewise wanted to be free. She arose with her breasts unbound and ran into the forest.
It was almost midnight when she went out in her wrap and her bathing suit beneath the glittering moon. The grass on the hill was moist. She stretched out a large beach towel. Below a grape arbor partially hid her from the lights of the street and house below. Above, she was hidden by more rose bushes growing tall. No one but Grandma was home. The house provided an additional coverage as did the shed and the lilac bushes on the other side. She wormed her way out of her wrap and suit and set them on the grasses. Then she stretched out on her back staring at the sky for her moon bath.
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