I am strolling through a crowded, open-air market place. It is Moroccan-summer hot. I am being jostled about by throngs of shoppers, busy as hungry fire ants. I stop briefly for a drink of water in the lee of an ancient shade tree. As I wipe the dust from my eyes with a silk kerchief, I see her once again:

She turns slowly and smiles to me from across the plaza. She is beautiful: body, mind and spirit--woman, child, goddess. My breath catches in my breast. For a second it is as if she and I are all that remain, all that is truly real. I raise my arm to beckon, heart quickening, breaking the spell. But she has already disappeared behind the press of buyers and sellers. Quickly, sprinting, dodging, I give pursuit, ever scanning for her presence. Alas, by the time I reach the place she was, she has gone.

Though circumstances may vary as the seasons and phases of the moon, still the motif is always present: I catch but a fleeting glimpse, a smile, a wisp of wind-blown hair, the glint of sun through light summer dress as she walks, never hurried but away, occasionally her essence wafting by on an evening breeze. And always the promise ...

pretty good for a panda!! enjoyed the imagery, and welccome!

very nice, welcome