Emily sat on the edge of the chair, picking at the frayed seams in the leather. She was thinking about the lake house, with its mint green walls, and the way the sun rippled across the surface of the water like tiny pools of glitter. She was remembering the sticky, sweet way the tar in the dock smelled in the midday heat and the delicious feel of the crisp breeze swirling across her sweat pricked skin. She was remembering Alex and the way he would wait perched on a sun warmed rock with his feet rustling the pebbles under the water, waiting for her to come running out the door. She was thinking of racing him to the end of the dock, the splash as he hit the surface and the feel of her toes curled against the edge of the warm, wet wood as she laughed at him for braving the cold water first.
2 CommentsTag: Magic
Riding Into the Rising Moon
Published August 22, 2012 by Jourdan
Thomas pushed aside the midnight blue curtains. He liked the curtains because he could imagine he held a liquid sky between his fingers, rippling and soft as silk. The bottom edges were fading into a ragged grey from years of brushing against the concrete floor. Thomas pressed the fabric to his face. It smelled of dust, cinnamon, and caramel. He pulled one side of the silk curtains back with a golden cord. The moonlight streamed in and settled in great pools. It glittered off the gems set into the saddles of the carousel horses. Thomas stepped onto the creaking wooden base.
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