This weekend’s forecast:
Mostly clear, with a possibility of furries.
High probability of photo bombing.
He never poses when I *want* him to.
But just let the camera flash go off when he’s NOT the intended subject.
Night Music
.
repetition, exploration
melody familiar
embellished anew
.
Pachelbel: Variations, Canon
.
.
Alone on my deck, surrounded by the quiet goings-on of my neighborhood, I revel in the erotic perceptions of sensory contrapositions. The sun massages its heat into my skin while the salt-chill breeze leaves it cool to the touch. Perspiration sheens my bare flesh while the ice water glass held against my neck sweats chilling drips. The towel beneath me shifts – rough-worn and terry soft – as I change position.
I am secluded, but not.
Secure in the knowledge that I am visible from below only through the second-story porch railing – and only if someone is *really* looking – the exhibitionist in me thrills to the impish impulse thrumming through my veins.
Can I…?
I’ve often been known to say things like, “We need to get Wally a llama,” and “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a long-necked sheep?”
I have even, on occasion, put voice to such grandiose zoological ideas as, “I want an elephant!”
Alas, the only wild beasts I’ve ever had roaming about my domicile are of the domesticated, non-exotic variety.
.
HOWEVER
Somehow – quite by accident – I seem to have acquired a zebra:
