hinges

June had forseen the birth of something grand.  It was warm and golden and smelled of sticky sweet honey.  It felt like warm sand, velvet between her fingers.  Luxurious.  Decadent.  Pleasure.

Quiet.

Silent.

Still.

She watched it happen from her spot just below the top of the ridge.  She would peek over the top, looking over the slight pudge of the hill.  She would sit, swaying slightly with the motion of the grasses, watching and waiting for it to happen.

Months earlier, the soles of her feet had started to itch.  

It was a sign to start moving.  

Over the years, she had fostered her skill in reading the signs.  The itch was just the beginning.  The one that said to move.  She left her shoes in her closet as she walked the countryside, looking for someone or something to scratch that itch, watching the sky and waiting expectantly.

Fingers pull on her hips.  Knees banging together.  Barn walls digging into her back.  Hay stuck in her hair.  Bruising kisses.  Sudden bites.  Up.  Oh God.  Hot eyes.  Licking lips.  Down.  Oh God.  Fingers reaching for hers.  Slick, sweaty digits intertwined .  Up.  Oh God.

Sweet touches.

But her feet still itched.

They itched where she couldn't scratch.  It was a place inside.  It was her bones.  Her bones itched.  She was disturbed by the thought.

She tried to ignore it for a while.  Stayed in a small town.  Thought about buying a horse.  But it grew worse.  It started to burn.  She wanted to cry.  She couldn't stay still.

Moving eased the pain, but left the itch.

She had made her way to this hill, looking for the sign in the sky.  She had peeked over and had seen the birth of something grand.

Long grass sticking between tight lips.  Dirt under short fingernails.  Worn out jeans.  Almostblack eyes staring up at a girl, almost a woman, wearing a white dress.  His eyes were consuming her.

Then there were naked limbs and cries and sighs and maybe even a few words in a language June didn't quite remember, but Sol obviously did, and then silence.

Sol walked, naked, hands brushing up against the tall grass.  He paused by June and reached his hand out.  Nine months.  Nine months and then the birth.  New life left in the afterbirth, fertility wrung into the soil once again.

They had found each other again.

Although June would forget in a few months time.  She would retreat to some barn and drown in misery.  Sol would find her, although she wouldn't remember him, and he'd bring her out to act as a cradle of warmth, preparing.