She lay among the hard, gnarled roots of trees, breathing slowly.  He had to
had to empty her pockets of twigs and leaves before taking her inside.

When they first met, it had taken him half an hour to realize why she
would not join him for a drink: her shoelaces were interlaced with blades of
grass:  she winked when he returned the next day with a bottle of wine.

A few short weeks later she told him where the weed trimmer was kept.
(They spent those weeks meeting unexpectedly - always outdoors, and never the
same place twice)

First Kiss:  After dinner in an Italian restaurant.  Candlelight and
bat opera.  He fills his lungs with her taste, to take home and carry with
him in his pocket.

His height:  So tall, she nnoticed when he took her home, taht his head
brushed the tops of doorways.

He trailed his fingers along walls and fences as he walked by.

He walked the longest possible path from room to room as if following a secret
pattern or pathway, or an underground river.  She set down roots in the
kitchen, facing south; she filled his pockets with breadcrumbs so he could
find his way back to where he started.

As rafters sagged and paint peeled, he grew increasingly despondent.  He took
carpentry classes half-heartedly, but by then there was nothing to be done.
In desperation, he called a realtor, praying for a new start.

Walking from house to house, her eyes were on the trees and gardens, but the
always glanced back at him to see the look on his face when they passed a
particularly beautiful house.

She studied dance, feng shui, astrology and interior decoration, trying to
find some message in the arcing paths he made across floors and through
doorways.  It was only once they were settled in the new house that she saw
his feet were tracing out the curves of a woman's body below the floor.

When he thought nobody was watching, he spoke to the mirror: she had thought
the poems he wrote were meant for her.

He leaned up against the enges of doorframes.  Each morning, before leaving
for work, he blew the front porch a kiss as she stood on it.

Finally she could stand it no more.  She began fishing pieces of her scent
and taste out from his pants pockets as she did the wash, hoping to collect
enough to escape.  As she packed her bags he lay asleep in bed, facing the
wall.

When he protested, she slammed the door on him, as she rushed down to the
waiting taxi made from twigs and feathers.

She did not look back to see the door curling around him in an embrace.

3 responses total.

HEY!  Who let your artistry out of its cage!  Didn't I tell you to stop
embaressing me with Wozer-Dowzer-Kablooey-Cool Stuff like this?  Well, Didn't
I?  Now I have to praise its merits and stuff.
Being as I have no idea where to start, I'll annoy the hell out of you by just
saying "Cool story, man."
And don't say I never did anything to you. Er. For.

Yeah I'm jealous at yourv writing.  Where do you come up with these images?

now mind-altering stories.  I'm ruined!
<font hugs orinoco and praises him highly, but tries to do it without whispers
of starch or old shirts>

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