Friday Flash: The Postcard

In an odd mood today, so here' an odd little short. Happy weekend!


The Postcard


Silver bleeds to salmon as night becomes dawn, and I sigh, watching soft petals fold away. How long until night falls again?

...goodbye, the breeze whispers. Good day.

Noon, glaring gold and faded green, wilted heat. Promise of thunder in the distance, but only a tease; bone-white clouds fray and fade away. Ducking into a market, I am served a brown drink like mud-flecked water. Delicious! Tamarind. Bought you this postcard and a shirt, pale gauze, voluminous. The cloth smells of the shop: bay rum and citrus. I wonder if it will glow in the moonlight, as the petals do?

(Imagine me rising from a blossom, clad only by the moon and wreathed in flower-scent. Does that thought make you smile, too?)

Late afternoon, the sunlight gold as honey, shining through drought-thinned leaves and melting over melted post-work pedestrians. Office workers swelter in their sweaters and jackets until they can shrug free, rushing for their air-conditioned cars. I nibble crisp jicama white as starshine, flavored with lime and chile, and smile as they pass wiltingly by. They are so very beautiful, a garden's worth of blossoms, similar and yet unique.

Once, you were such a face, chance-spied, limned by the rays of the setting sun. And I...

I, arrayed in silver-white, sit lotus in the garden and wait for the moon to rise. My eyes are closed, yet still I perceive Moonflowers’ slow unfolding, furry calyx yielding to the need of the luxuriant satin petals to be free. The urgent approach of nightbird, moth, bat, seeker after sweetness summoned by perfume. A slower drawing-near, footsteps light as goosedown but not at all hesitant.

Your smile, as you wait for me to turn.

The heat of you in the cool night, and the satin brush of petals over our skin...

See you soon!

pxj