Just Playing With Words

-- Targeting the Trite

It was a dark and stormy night. No, it wasn’t. The sky was black, the stars absent from sight, and the moon obscured by dense fog. Not one modicum of light was visible to the man who stood alone at his window, wondering.

He was tall, dark, and handsome. No, he wasn’t. He was pleasant enough though, with thick, shaggy, ochre-colored hair brushing the collar of his blue, denim shirt still covered with a layer of dust. He had plowed his fields that day, and as he had done so, he had thought of her.

She was a vision in blue. No, she wasn’t. She was short, slightly plump, with wide braids that hung down almost to her waist. They lay on her broad breasts like thick ropes, the ends of which unraveled into smooth, glossy strands like wet, corn silk.

Her smile caught his eye. No, it didn’t. Though her grin was genuine, and her demeanor a bit flirtatious, it was her eyes that held him. They were deep, sapphire blue, the color of the California sky in mid-summer. Laughter lived there. He could see.

She carried her happiness like a song. No, she didn’t. Life had not been easy for her, yet she was not sad. Perhaps she was a bit resigned to an existence that offered little glamour combined with a miserable memory or two that threatened to pull her into cruel clutches like quicksand. She was resilient though, and strong. Her contentment was a choice.

She had a good head on her shoulders. No she didn’t. Yes. At times she did. That man, she thought, remembering -- dusty hair, sleepy eyes, a quick smile. Dimples. I’ll seek him out tomorrow. She stood alone at her window, staring at the midnight sky, wondering.