Voices on the Wind Open Theme
A Smidgeon of Lunacy by m.e.jackson Stepping out of the shower surrounded by miniscule beads of moisture, she eyed the reflection popping from a wide vanity mirror; a pear shape without a stem, legs added like Mr. Potato Head, all wrapped neatly in a quasi Turkish towel monogrammed “His.” Marriage leftovers, one of many, abandoned for greener pastures. Silly men, grass is only green if it receives water. Her imagination envisioned a desert populated by old farts and their trophy blond wives. What a delicious thought. Wise first wives focused on desserts, chocolate and whip cream with a cherry on top, intact, virginal. Towel left in the hamper, dressed and ready for a spin, she flipped the dishwasher to short cycle. Throbbing, swishing water and thumping dishes began filling the air with sounds. She bumped and ground her way to a soft sofa. An open book wobbled while words blurred on the page. She dozed, comforted by the warm fuzzy feeling her mind lent her body. For a moment it felt like first love, unknown, but anticipated as the joy of tomorrow’s pink sunrise. Alone, she knew it was merely a smidgeon of lunacy in a sane world.