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Silhouette of Sensuality |
| Written by wesley d. marner | |
| Monday, 17 March 2008 | |
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...The Silhouette of Sensuality After traversing about a mile down the trail into the woods behind Grandpa's old home we had urged some of the cows out of the lane, watched a pair of turkey hens picking in the field, forged a creek in the four wheel drive and just knew this protected piece of woods was forgotten in time and not desired to be visited by those faint of heart. This time was ours in an escape from time, from telephones, but mostly just time found by doing what we do best... to be with each other. Long ago, through multiple family efforts, a shanty in the woods had grown into a place of affection and solitude that has in times past brought great pleasure to us all. This was one of those weekends... A couple of days in the winter's woods, keeping the fire going, and living the primitive lifestyle makes us appreciate the water hauled into this reclusive place. One can only know the appreciation for a shower after keeping the wood stove stoked and the firewood split, the meals prepared by the fire. No shower, no power exists. Add a 32 degree morning, still dark from a looming storm and you know the day ahead is found indoors, or so I thought. The rain pelting the tin roof awakened us early and the smell of coffee on the wood stove fought the funk from our brains even before the light of day. As we slipped on the warm robes and migrated out the front door, hands wrapped around our cups, we mused with each other how wonderful the songs on the tin above our heads played. While sitting watching the break of day over the horizon to the southeast, the rain clouds kept the full light of day at bay. The tunes played on as spouts of water poured off the front porch roof and pounded the steps below. Even before the first cup was finished, she jumped from her chair and disappeared inside only to return with towel, washcloth and a bar of Lever. Thrusting it in my hand, her instructions were simple, "Here, hold this." she said as she folded the towel over my arm. The arms went up and the nightshirt followed them closely behind reveling all the womanly attributes so familiar to me. As her little feet dropped her slippers one by one the night pants followed falling to the planks below. I exclaimed, "what are you doing?" Quickly pointing to the water pouring from the roof, "...taking a shower!" she replied. "You're crazy, it's freezing!" I retorted, only to get directions to hold her towel and keep it dry. I unexpectantly enjoyed what has become one of the most beautiful memories ever experienced. Dainty feet defiantly tiptoed over to the steps where the water from the roof poured. I backed up to the rocker and obediently kept the towel dry as I eased down with my warm cup of coffee. As I watched, the daylight getting stronger on the horizon, the limbs of the naked trees moving in the deluge from above, I noted another silhouette against the sheets of rain shimmering in the morning light. A silhouette of one whose puffy 'morning hair' was now soaked and turned to ringlets draping her shoulders. The dim light from the cabin door and oil lamps inside splayed across that golden Korean-American skin and also became sparkles playing among the splashes as they fell from her hair. "Hand me the shampoo." she stated. As I squirted a puddle in her palm and she deftly worked it in and rinsed again. Reaching for the bar of Lever soap, first the face, the arms, the breasts, the belly, the legs and all those places in between gently cleaned and rinsed leaving no area uncared. As the suds were rinsed away and I sat quietly watching her silhouette against the morning rain and daylight, I realized the spontaneity and sensuality that had played quietly in front of me to the tunes on the tin above, I was totally mesmerized. As if the hands of time stopped, it seemed an hour I sat and watched but must have only been minutes by the time the rinsing finished and her hands came to her face with palms cupped upward to catch extra water and wash over her body. I noted even the elbows tucked inward a little so what spilled from her hands gently ran down the rest of her body. As she stepped from the water and asked for the towel I helped dry and then wrap her in my arms to warm what I figured coldness; I only felt heat. The scene now welded in my memory, but a moment in time is that of a friend, a lover, my child's mother, and my wife. Such a beautiful friend, such a wonderful lover, such a great mother, and yet the greatest is in being my wife. A greater portrait is but only due to her. The rhythm is played rather I hear it in the windshield of the truck, the window pane at night, from the canvas over the sidewalks downtown, or just anywhere that Heaven's liquid pours.......'ol doc wesCopyright 2008 wesley d. marner |
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