Page 57 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. III #10

of
Shadows
th
gth
Shadows
dotted with coconut husks until that angry fist is in front of her. She has walked ten miles already; she
is tired but makes no plans to turn around and get back home. Mariella intends to sit on a boulder like an iguana. This side of the island is rocky and wild. Strands of seaweed turn brown, caught in the crevices of driftwood and stones. A single-engine plane passes overhead, the only sign of the modern world, its right wing winks and dips, sputters northeast.
It is late now, past time for supper, but Mariella waits. As the sun drops below the horizon, it opens itself, unclenches, stretches softly into the clouds. It is a gold ring glinting in the palm of a hand.
Mariella does not see the life preserver, a white halo on this darkening reef, wash up beside her. She sees only the last fragments of gold scatter above the sea, aching for high tide.
50
g