(the beginning)

yellow wilting petals between hurried feet, the swish of a red pallu. white marble tiles and blue sky.
there was golden sunlight playing with the green in her eyes, i recall. she was smiling at me. fiesty, always so.

no, not feisty, tempestuous.she was the summer storm in all its glory, twirling and twirling amid red chiffon and yelloworange marigolds, threading themselves feebly through her toes in an effort to
become the Joy that was her.

.............

i play images like a disc on repeat, images like a vintage song of old. and almost magically, almost out of lovelorn nostalgia,...i can still smell the summer sticky heat, and the crushed marigolds of the gardens.
i keep playing.... looking for that infinitesimal moment somewhere between us that has lead to this; me, clawing at wispy memories, swishes of an uncontrollable breeze.

i smile wryly, thinking...how could it be that i grasp that moment?
it is, after all, impossible to capture the storm in an outstretched palm.

And then, to capture her?

.........
Such an exercise in futility..