Grove 5

And now we learn that the cabin is not empty, and our accidental voyeur, drawn into the story, tells us what he sees…

voyeurwindow.jpg

They must have thought the place was empty. They were on their knees. He had her by the shoulders, had trapped her by her jacket, had exposed her to the window that ordinarily gathers the morning light and warms my living room. His hand had slipped inside her jeans. Her head dropped back as she looked up at him, but he turned her chin to the window. They must have been reflected there. I watched as he moved around beside her and she leaned up to kiss him and this time he did not turn her away. She pushed him backward, they, falling together, cushioned by the rich smell of damp wood that had permeated the grove since the rain began days ago, suddenly seemed freer than they did on their feet.

I had been indoors all day and suddenly wanted to be outside, yet, like a birdwatcher not wanting to startle a rare find I could see in the distance, I did not want to move, to upset the scene unfolding below. I was aware of every squeak of the old creaky stairs as I went down to the kitchen where I could listen at the side door. I wanted to hear their sounds.

The kitchen door stood open on the side of the house and from a darkened corner of the main room I could watch out the large glass windows and hear them through the screen. They had not startled, had not even noticed the sounds of my creaky descent. No. They had not flown. They were there, not ten feet away, like some new animals come to the grove, hidden from most by the vines on my trellis and the dense brush that nobody here bothers to clear away, but plainly visible to me.

They were beautiful, and oblivious to all but their own bodies, and I could not take my eyes off them.

Photo by W. Merganser

~ by Molly Montrevoir on December 1, 2006.

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