the female gene: fanciful dreaming

Wind was a tricky fellow. It was the sixth day of June and he was pulling a fast one on the young woman as she swept down the street. With one hand she clutched her jacket to her body, and with the other she trapped her hair that threatened to escape its pins. First he tugged on her sleeve, pulling her arm with a gentle persistence. Before she could release his grip he would sweep up from behind and knock her glasses off.
Ducking behind a wall of blooming lilacs the girl composed herself. As she stepped out into the sunshine she murmured a few well chosen words under her breath and changed direction with the speed of light. Standing face-to-the-beast she pulled a final string. With one billowing burst of gold her hair sailed into the air. Releasing her jack it slid from her arms to crumple in a heap at her feet.
Wind, for all his antics, had never suspected this reaction from his prey, and was taken entirely by surprise. His viciousness lost its bite. His amusement lost its mockery. The ocean salts tingled freshly in his breath, and for a whole minute he forgot his mischievous desires. Like a great cat, humbled by the his master's whip the wind gentled and became a pleasant breeze.
"That's better." The young lady slid a pair of dark glasses and stooped to pick up her jacket. Good book in hand she found a quite patch of sand and slipped off her shoes. The wind murmured it's pleasure in her ear. The sunshine warmed the beach, and the young woman fell asleep.
The wind sang her a sweet lullaby.





-Yeah, it's corney. yes it's unrealistic. Yes I'm desperately wishing it were summery, warm, and break time. I would give just about anything to be reading a satisfying novel right about now.

C'est tout. Au revoir. Bon soir mes amies.