Post by mystery_creature2 on Jul 16, 2004 7:40:04 GMT -8
Kefalonia
I can still taste the Baklavas, the sweet syrup trickling down the mound of my chin, filling the caverns of my greedy mouth before dissolving, pure sugar slipping down my throat, running silkily over my tongue and dripping glossily onto the table. The crunchy nuts, buried between chewy, thin layers of the most delicate of pastries, crumbling in my hands. The herbs, tangy and aromatic, spicing the bundle until the mixture of tastes resounds in your mouth for those few delicious minutes, and haunts your mind for hours.
I can still see the beaches, the hard edged roundness of the stones, pressing against my feet, and the sand folding around my toes. I can see the whiteness of the bay, perfectly round, and the clarity of the blue, blue water, in which I swim, the liquid caressing my skin, frothing around my ankles and consuming the heat of the sun on my body with a carnal lust.
Then there are the mountains, reaching up into the sun-baked sky, the deep green of trees suspended against the ferocious indigo, hanging silently in the air. The clouds gathering around the summit, clambering laboriously over the rolling landscape, rising the to the peak before thawing into a brief outline of non-existence, a trembling limbo, hovering for only a second.
The plaintive wailing of the cats, some fat, flesh rolled around their well fed succulence, others scrawny, meat hanging of their bodies, mucus hanging from bloody noses. I can feel it rubbing against me, the ragged bundle of bones with the spirit of a cat. Never have I felt so much pity. Then the kitten, adoring eyes and the dearest tabby ginger pattern. I remember the feel of it nestled asleep inside my shirt, the gentle beating of it’s tiny heart against mine, pounding together, warmth against warmth. Kefalonia.
I can still taste the Baklavas, the sweet syrup trickling down the mound of my chin, filling the caverns of my greedy mouth before dissolving, pure sugar slipping down my throat, running silkily over my tongue and dripping glossily onto the table. The crunchy nuts, buried between chewy, thin layers of the most delicate of pastries, crumbling in my hands. The herbs, tangy and aromatic, spicing the bundle until the mixture of tastes resounds in your mouth for those few delicious minutes, and haunts your mind for hours.
I can still see the beaches, the hard edged roundness of the stones, pressing against my feet, and the sand folding around my toes. I can see the whiteness of the bay, perfectly round, and the clarity of the blue, blue water, in which I swim, the liquid caressing my skin, frothing around my ankles and consuming the heat of the sun on my body with a carnal lust.
Then there are the mountains, reaching up into the sun-baked sky, the deep green of trees suspended against the ferocious indigo, hanging silently in the air. The clouds gathering around the summit, clambering laboriously over the rolling landscape, rising the to the peak before thawing into a brief outline of non-existence, a trembling limbo, hovering for only a second.
The plaintive wailing of the cats, some fat, flesh rolled around their well fed succulence, others scrawny, meat hanging of their bodies, mucus hanging from bloody noses. I can feel it rubbing against me, the ragged bundle of bones with the spirit of a cat. Never have I felt so much pity. Then the kitten, adoring eyes and the dearest tabby ginger pattern. I remember the feel of it nestled asleep inside my shirt, the gentle beating of it’s tiny heart against mine, pounding together, warmth against warmth. Kefalonia.
