I ran into Emily this afternoon. She has two kids now. I hope her husband won't mind me saying that she is as stunning as ever.
I met Emily while hiking in England. One rainy, muggy afternoon treck from Marnhull to Milton Abbey in the south of the country, I noticed her walking alone listening to her ipod.
I caught up to her and asked what she had on. "Mozart." She stopped, took out her earphones, and handed them to me.
They were damp, warm and perfumed from vigorous hiking. I noticed the flush of her checks as I heard strident voices singing "Dies ire, dies illa!" (Day of wrath, day of mourning) from his Requiem.
They were damp, warm and perfumed from vigorous hiking. I noticed the flush of her checks as I heard strident voices singing "Dies ire, dies illa!" (Day of wrath, day of mourning) from his Requiem.
We walked together for 10 minutes, fell into silence, and separated.
After exiting a mucky forest, we encountered perfectly manicured green leading up to a stone abbey. Our shoes left transgressive imprints in the grass like crushed velvet.
We approached, removed our shoes, and entered Milton Abbey.
We were greeted by the coolness of a tiled floor and the efigies of two lovers, long since passed.
We were greeted by the coolness of a tiled floor and the efigies of two lovers, long since passed.
"Our shoes left transgressive imprints in the grass like crushed velvet."
ReplyDeleteLovely. Really lovely line.