by Jill Eldredge Gabriele
The weather mild, the sky is neither bright nor cloudy. There is no wind, yet the air is not stale. It is all very still.
She is standing in the center, a square walled garden surrounding her. The sand-colored walls are low. Two stone paths emanate from each corner, intersecting at the middle of the square, where she stands. A few meager shrubs show little signs of life. Flowers are muted, with washed out blues and purples barely in evidence.
And still she stands, of average height, brown shoulder-length hair, beige trousers and a soft white top. Middle aged, neither old or young. Her hands by her side, her posture neither erect nor slumping. Just standing.
Her gaze is forward, unforced, looking but not really looking. Her breathing normal, yet barely discernible. She is here. Standing. Alone.
For a moment, she closes her eyes, letting out a slow, quiet exhaling of breath. She is listening, wondering if there is anything to hear. Slowly opening her eyes again, quietly inhaling, she seems to settle within herself.
And yet. A natural concentration feels evident. An awareness. Being one with the surroundings.
Another slow inhale, her head tilts ever so slightly, her eyes seem to focus, binocular wheels slowly calibrating. Her lips roll inwards, her teeth gently biting down. A hesitation. Her breath stops.
Slowly exhaling, her eyes begin to narrow. Brows furrow, her eyes emit a menacing focus.
And then, the faintest stirring of a breeze can be seen in a wisp of hair brushing her face.
And whatever that intense moment encapsulated, is gone as quickly as it appeared. Another inhale, and yet with a slight shuddering, a catching of the breath.
Jill Eldredge Gabriele: Writing has always been a part of Jill’s life: project editor at Rand McNally; editor at Mobil Travel Guide; and now for pleasure.