Embracing the Goddess

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Chloe Salpa

It is a quiet night, but for the wind. The Santa Anas’ have begun blowing, fanning the inevitable brush fires, leaving the air scented with smoke and desert sage. The last glow of sunlight is fading away and the half moon is already bright in its rising arc. In the broad alley, an elegant Asian woman is enjoying a leisurely evening stroll, her dogs leading the way.She would normally have continued up the crossing street to the main road, but the walks are littered with fallen debris already, so she is cutting across here. The dogs are enjoying the diversion, snuffing up the new smells, inventorying the byway. Halfway down, a squirrel makes a dash, sparking the dogs, who strain the leash, yipping and hoping for the chance of sport.The woman holds firm and commands them with a terse “Tch, Stay!”As she stands in place, letting them settle, she notices the soft glow of firelight coming from the dim, overgrown yard to her left. Curiosity pricks her and she turns to peer between the shrubs and low hanging tree limbs. ‘Family s’more night? A couple savoring a bottle of old sirrah as the stars rise?’It is time. Her Goddess is calling. The winds that draw her forth have risen, pouring out of the desert laden with her scent. They have sought her out as she has gone about her normal etimesgut escort daily business. They have run tingling up her skin as she dresses for work. They have caught her at the corner, riffling her hair. They have filled her nose in her office, laughing at its climate-controlled purified air. They have possessed her and she knows it, as she always does when they call.The woman moves closer to the low fence lining the alley. Her dogs, still caught in the fantasy of the hunt, protest, but she silences them with a gesture and they drop beside her with unquestioning eyes. She squints in through the leaves, letting her eyes adjust to the light.The yard is not the normal sort of garden tour design she would have expected in this neighborhood. It is instead a crazy quilt of queer plants, large and small, seemingly planted at random. There are large, craggy rocks and totem-like poles spiking up at odd angles. And in the center, there is a clearing of sand, flat and square, with a small circle of rocks at each corner. And in the center, there is a woman, lit pale white by the moon. An entirely naked woman. A woman intent on some deep purpose.She opens her front door and steps through, bumping it closed behind her. She drops her work eryaman escort satchel down and begins to undress, her clothes falling at her now bare feet. She stretches up her long, thin naked body, her hands reaching for the sky and holds herself, eyes closed, letting the air caress and cleanse her. With a deep sigh, she relaxes back down and steps across the room to a low trunk against the far wall and lifts the lid. She takes up an earth-colored blanket and a bulging jute bag from inside. In the kitchen, she opens a bottle of red wine, taps the cork back, and adds it carefully to the bag. She steps out the back door with her bundle and threads her way down the narrow path in the falling light. She enters the square and sets down the bag, then opens the blanket and lays it out on the sand.The woman watches as the ghostly figure rustles in a bag and moves to one of the circles of rocks. She sees a flame spark and tinder catch. Each corner is lit in turn, casting a dancing orange light on the scene. The figure kneels at the blanket edge, facing out into the garden. She pulls the bag closer and takes out a dark terracotta bowl, placing it to her left. She lifts out a bottle and pours into the bowl.The woman feels herself being drawn in by sincan escort the mystery unfolding before her. She wraps the dogs’ leads into the fence, knowing they would never betray their master’s trust. She moves quietly along the fence, trying to get a better view. She stops when she sees there is a gate, standing ajar. She passes in, unsure why, but feeling she must. She steps carefully until she finds a spot where she can see clearly, but stay concealed in the darkness.Her wine poured, she pulls a small knife from the bag and stabs the tip of her middle finger, letting the blood drip into the bowl. From a leather pouch, she adds a fat pinch of powder, then stirs it with the wounded finger, her eyes closed and head tilted back to the heavens. She stops with a groan, as a gust of wind pulses across the square, tousling her hair and rippling the blanket. She lifts the bowl with both hands and takes a drink, then a second. Putting the bowl back, she sits upright between her feet, her knees spread to shoulder width, her hands resting loosely up on her white thighs.The woman stares at the figure posing close-eyed and statue-like before her. The flickering firelight is strong enough to make out her thin body, her small breasts and narrow hips, the dusting of hair above her sex. ‘Perhaps,’ she thinks to herself, ‘this is just some personal meditation thing, some new age excuse to slug back some wine in the nude.’Then the figure speaks in a quiet, warm voice, “I know you are there. She has sent you to me. Come here. Leave your clothes where you are and come.”

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