Thin lips, painted an orange-tinged red, stretch to near oblivion before they begin their slow puckering. They pucker in, not up, and the eyes droop down, mated in disapproval.
A storm has gathered. More like a squall. Guileless you in your metaphorical boat have not correctly calibrated the gathering cloud cover, and if you don’t just drop the sail and ride it out, you will be tossed and sprayed and bandied about until you either heave or capsize (or both). But you never drop the sail in time. You never see it coming. So you hunker down without your foul-weather gear and remind yourself that, once it’s over, the sun will gradually reappear and the seas will calm.
Yet you have not mollified. You have not redeemed yourself. The thin sunset-red lips remain puckered, and there is nothing left to do but usher out the day gone sour.
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Hi Kymm.
ReplyDeleteAt the end I have find your blog.
Excellent I think.
Love
AIDA
entender, lo que se dice entender, casi no entiendo nada, o no lo entiendo todo. Pero me gusta como suena al leerlo en voz bajita.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHats off! You caught it. I can see it clearly in this one,
ReplyDeleteThanks to you all (a todas) for looking. It's nice to have comments.
ReplyDeleteDeta: no creo que te oiga nadie aunque lo leas en voz altita... Asi aprendi el castellano. Gracias por el esfuerzo, ante todo!