Happy place

It is evening, although not yet dark; the cooler air delights and refreshes the skin after the shimmering heat of the day.

I move across the desert landscape of my imagination. Stones crunch beneath my light sandals and the emerald green taffeta dress whispers to me with every step. The wind gusts sporadically, dragging stray hairs across my face; disturbing the heavy straightness of the dark plait down my spine.

I throw my arms wide and spin around on the spot. The many-layered fabric moves independently, pulled by momentum and wind, brushing my legs with a thousand tiny caresses. Raising my face to the turning sky, I dance in crazy, Dervish loops, with a laugh in my heart and a smile in my eyes, revelling in the sensory delight that is the dress against my body.

After a while, I slow down and come to rest next to a picnic blanket. I kneel and arrange the skirt just so and lift the bodice and blouse a little to cool my chest.

It is my happy place. Sometimes I regret that there’s nobody else here.

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