Tess Kincaid hosts this meme. Thank you, Tess J Each week she posts a photograph from her archive to act as a visual prompt and followers respond as they see fit. Some versify, some don’t.
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Image copyright Tess Kincaid
As he came into the room she wondered again at the sheer pleasure she derived from his company. After so many years she had thought the feeling of joy might have diminished but each time she saw him her delight in him was renewed.
She loved to watch him though she did not allow him to see that she followed his every movement. He didn’t enjoy being scrutinised. He was tall and slim, long-legged and broad-shouldered. His clever hands manipulated tools with a skill she had never acquired - everything he did was accomplished gracefully.
She looked at his dark eyes, so expressive, incapable of hiding his feelings. His skin was clear and unblemished, the cheek bones prominent, his nose straight above a well-defined mouth. He was so . . . perfect! She laughed and chided herself for indulging such a banal thought.
She wondered why she had been so blessed. Nothing had prepared her for the rush of love she experienced every time they met again, even after a short separation. Little pained her as much as waving him goodbye every morning and only the knowledge that he would return each evening alleviated her sense of loss. She had never doubted he would always come back – after all, where else could he go?
He came over, put his hand on her knee and reached up to kiss her. As he drew nearer she reeled back in disgust. Garlic! Not for the first time she resolved to write to the school complaining at the liberal use of this noxious vegetable. She knew all the parents felt the same, but the children said the lasagne was the best they’d ever tasted.