A HAND IN THE FOG

XVI

Looking at that picture she felt something different inside her.

It was a beautiful view from the terrace – of course not so beautiful as she used to joke with him about another perfect landscape – but even so a beautiful landscape.

The sea was blue. Some trees made shadow on the floor. Between the sea and the terrace there was some roofs and at the end just the sand and the sea.

They were far one from another at that time of the picture. Not only because of the kilometers. In kilometers it was a little bit less than the usual – just nine thousands, three hundreds and twenty-two kilometers. There were six hundreds kilometers less – but of course and for sorry – so much distance.

The climate put another point of difference.

He was in summer. She was in winter.

He was at the beach. She was inside home.

He was tan. She was grey.

She smiled at that moment.

Not only for the description of her skin but she remembered her summer time at the beach – for many years and so many years ago.

Summer for her it was like a smile – a free smile of a good surprise.

The sun was hot, very hot. She woke and changed clothes so fast like an emergency. The preferred beach it was so easy to go. She went always walking. A not so long hill separated her from her beach.

Early in the morning she went down the hill almost running. She had long hair at that time and the warm wind made it flies around her neck and shoulders. It was a delicious sensation. The way until the beach it was bordered the sea by a side and by elegant buildings at the other side.

She never looked at the buildings – only to the side of the sea – like a magnet. She walked with the head directed to the right side.

In the right side she could dream all she wanted – this is one of the best permissions that the sea gives for someone who looks at it. She went down the little hill like she was inside a cloud. That was she.

She constructed stories. She imagined different countries with the same sea. She guessed how many different languages were trying to dialogue. She almost could hear the sounds.

Sometimes small white waves made her look to a specific movement. Many boats slithered crossing from one place to another.

There was an island in front and close. When she looked at the island the feet stopped the run to the beach and walked slowly. During sunny days it was possible see the island sand. Wonderful. She began to think about what the people in the island could imagine about the people of the continent.

Downing that hill alone she constructed a wonderful private world and when she finally arrived at her preferred beach it was like she had traveled for days or months. And it was only fifteen or twenty minutes walking.

And the same happened every day in this way to the beach. But not the same stories – at each day a detail changed the story inside her mind.

She looked at all that landscape like it was part of her body. Since she was born – or since a memory was born or created – who knows – inside her – she walked in this way to go to the beach. She was grown there.

Finally at the beach – when she sat on the hot sand and after went to feel the warm water around her skin – it was a sensation like she was re-born. She loved be inside the water, she loved walk with no sandal on the sand. The wind around her it was such a pleasure that she stopped her walking many times just to feel the wind on the skin.

But the most delicious it was walk on the sand at the end of the day. The sand was soft because many people walked during the day. The water was clear and calm. The sunset was beautiful – the city was located on an isthmus so the sunshine and sunset was at the beach. The colors of the sky, the sea and the land were fascinating. Wonderful.

It was really a delicious time.

When she went up the hill back to her home – the head turned at this time to the left. And she went on with her dreams and imagination.

Now it was another time.

One day she moved from that city and her beach was there, without her. For many years she thought about the sea and the island. About what people was doing or if the landscape changed.

The beach and the route to the beach it was the only memories from the city that made her almost cry when she remembered both. At that time she never looked at the buildings – only to the side of the sea – like a magnet. She walked with the head directed to the right side.

Now in the new city – she just had buildings to look. And she was sadly surprise one day when she went to a city with beaches and turned her head to the buildings instead of the beach. Yes. She changed inside her self – maybe because she lost the routine or maybe because the routine was lost for her.

It is the Life pointing the behaviors.

And in that morning that they were so far one to another – he sent the picture from the terrace. He was there with his summer.

She looked at the photo many times during the day. At each new look – she discovered a new detail she had not saw.

She was at home alone and with cold. Outside the window it was a dense fog.

She sat and looked once more to the photo in the computer – and decided to print it.

Yes. An excellent idea – said her to herself.

She printed in the best and big style and put on the wall in front of the place she used to sit to write or to eat something.

Suddenly she felt as she was looking at the window – through the window.

She almost could feel the warm breeze and the sun’s heat. She could swear that she listened the calm sound of the summer waves.

And she felt him close – much close. She knew the position that he took the picture. She could see what he was looking. She could know also that he was standing on the terrace without his shirt and with short and flip. His hair was flying because of the wind. His knees slightly bent. She could feel the smell of his skin and the eroticized smell of his kiss.  And she was absolutely sure that he stopped in some moment to listen the sound of wind in the leaves of those trees that were advancing on the terrace. She knew that he loved that sound.

He took the picture for her – and she was so much happy because of this. Sometimes the most beautiful feature of a photo is to exchange absence in presence.

At this time she didn’t close her eyes to pretend be there. With her fingers touching so soft the picture she could breathe the summer as if had opened a window. And could touch him standing and with his hair flying – but in silence for not disturb the sound of the leaves.

Looking at this private window she smiled. She forgot for a while the nine thousands, three hundreds and twenty-two kilometers between them – he was beside her. And she remembered also her preferred beach without need the help of the tears. She was feeling almost the same light and sweet sensation as so many years ago she felt when went down on the hill to go to her preferred beach every day – all summer time.

She sent a kiss for him.

She turned suddenly her head in the opposite side of that window when the phone sounded.

It was another delightful surprise. She felt warmish. And for that moment there was no fog and no cold – just a magical hot day.

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