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Spring Day at the Park
The smell of Spring blossums saturates the air, cloying, sweet. A bluebird sky embraces the sun. Its rays filter through the oak leaves, dappling the ground in the pattern that gave the leopard his spots, converting the grass to a verdant, jewelled carpet. The musical tinkling of childrens' voices playing in the park supplies the sound track to the idyllic scene.
He strolls through this perfect setting, carefree and remote. His hair is ebony and shines like the wing of a crow. The sun's isolated rays turn the blackness to deep, blue sapphire as they intermittantly force their way through the leaves.
His perfect body is lean, muscular. No clothing sullies his flawless form, allowing the cut, defined muscles rippling beneath the skin to be appreciated. Light and shadow combine to punctuate each contraction of the perfect musculature. His eyes are the light, chocolate brown of polished mahogany, lit by some internal, primal fire. Broad shoulders move in counterpoint to long, athletic legs as he strides, obviously unhurried.
From the corner of his eye he catches movement out on the open, freshly mown grass. His head turns sharply and he sees her, shining in the bright sunlight.
Instantly his whole demeanor transforms. Gone is the relaxed attitude of a moment ago. His muscles lock rigidly in mid-step. His eyes narrow, now fixed unwavering on her. His nostrils flair and his chest swells. At this moment he appears as what he so obviousy is; a male animal, full in his prime who sees the object of his deepest desire.
He turns fully toward her, takes a step; another. His decision is made. He will have her.
In that instant, as he takes the next step toward her, I call out to him;
"Shadow! Get back over here, knucklehead!.
Reluctantly he turns to me, then trots over to sit before me, tail sweeping the grass behind him. He's grinning.
"You leave her alone. Her owner doesn't want you sniffin' around. Besides, that poodle's too small for you anyway. Come on buddy. Let's go home."
With a backward glance and a snort, he follows me to the truck.
Mark
The smell of Spring blossums saturates the air, cloying, sweet. A bluebird sky embraces the sun. Its rays filter through the oak leaves, dappling the ground in the pattern that gave the leopard his spots, converting the grass to a verdant, jewelled carpet. The musical tinkling of childrens' voices playing in the park supplies the sound track to the idyllic scene.
He strolls through this perfect setting, carefree and remote. His hair is ebony and shines like the wing of a crow. The sun's isolated rays turn the blackness to deep, blue sapphire as they intermittantly force their way through the leaves.
His perfect body is lean, muscular. No clothing sullies his flawless form, allowing the cut, defined muscles rippling beneath the skin to be appreciated. Light and shadow combine to punctuate each contraction of the perfect musculature. His eyes are the light, chocolate brown of polished mahogany, lit by some internal, primal fire. Broad shoulders move in counterpoint to long, athletic legs as he strides, obviously unhurried.
From the corner of his eye he catches movement out on the open, freshly mown grass. His head turns sharply and he sees her, shining in the bright sunlight.
Instantly his whole demeanor transforms. Gone is the relaxed attitude of a moment ago. His muscles lock rigidly in mid-step. His eyes narrow, now fixed unwavering on her. His nostrils flair and his chest swells. At this moment he appears as what he so obviousy is; a male animal, full in his prime who sees the object of his deepest desire.
He turns fully toward her, takes a step; another. His decision is made. He will have her.
In that instant, as he takes the next step toward her, I call out to him;
"Shadow! Get back over here, knucklehead!.
Reluctantly he turns to me, then trots over to sit before me, tail sweeping the grass behind him. He's grinning.
"You leave her alone. Her owner doesn't want you sniffin' around. Besides, that poodle's too small for you anyway. Come on buddy. Let's go home."
With a backward glance and a snort, he follows me to the truck.
Mark
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