Gina

The hay was, finally all on the wagon, the horses resting and a storm announced its imminent arrival. The boss, a relative, had gone ahead steering the other one, by tractor power. We were so overheated, and Gina was my cousin, but something which, I am so positive, had been created in a rare but clever cooperation between the devil and our God, it was an overwhelming, a devastatingly and irresistibly musical and kinaesthetic hue that sprang at me, like spiderwebbed arabic gum . It melted me and when the flash of lightning came, with mother thunder chasing him across the skies, I very slowly, and with a delicious and exquisite ease, supported by small trembles of a mortal fear which was just pure adrenalin, in concert with the orchestra of all my hormones, I persevered, and stayed, put, as they say. It was too heavenly to think or blink, there in the fragrant hay, of which it is by knowing oldsters, said that it will, slowly but without much mercy kill unless you go back to your world and leave those undue dreams and all licentious thoughts behind you. We stayed. The rain did ruin the hay, oh damn, but both new friends by being flashy and full of thunder, did help, not hinder. Today, I was reminded when a storm stopped by to say 'remember'. It made me think all day of my sweet cousin Gina. I must write.