They walked together Ninth and Main as the evening sun fell low; its line of sight brilliant and bright, broken in rayed and scattered light, long shadows cast down corridor of the city street.
In center of road, a statue stood, and of it he took notice, amazed, how art—like world and trees and people—can change so much in seasons when they are seen.
February, he sought and found the statue. Where he hoped to find an inspiration, he saw something plain and else. Statue stood, but its pools were empty. No light illumed from statue base nor winter day’s above where even with the sun in height, there seemed neither shadow nor rays in cast on city street—only grey and mute of an almost-melancholy in a world—lukewarm—absent energy and color.
Bronze of the statue showed its-copper nature; blue-oxidize amongst cold-smooth of the sculpture’s skin.
Empty pools, fish and nets she held appeared divorced and disconnected from water’s bonding thread.
Summer—all was changed.
Sculptured muse appeared alive.
Cast of the fountain, soft mist of splash and wind in air colored away the oxidize. Naked, tanned, and beautiful—she stood with the bounty of nets’ yield, hair’s flow and down and free; pert and pointed high atop bold-natural of open breasts; bronze of her skin, sheened and smooth, glowed in strike of the setting sun and light fixtures from beneath when long shadows of the street overtook when heaven-source was felled.
He saw Muse then as never before—who she was not and could not have been in time and light of winter life.
Changed, wondrous, she was beautiful in her living summer-bronze.
Sculpture, she, he turned attention from one to other and saw too her nature and essence-change: evening’s light on ray-fall hair, radiant and brilliant in hold to every stream and strand; bronze tone of her skin, reddened hued beneath and through as fair skin does in summer’s burn; freckles’ emboldened, bronze and copper, that darkened and glinted in touch of light upon.
Changed, wondrous, she was beautiful in her living summer-bronze.
Begin of knot high of throat, sudden deep-beating of his heart, she countered in smiled levity knowing inspire and affection of her aura-essence, controlled and cast, like rays of the focus-framed sun down corridor of street.
Without word, his own aura’s tell—she knew.
He wanted to be home: off city-street, past parks of Loose and Hyde first-tinged of autumn’s touch; behind closed door, up stairwell’s climb, bare feet in sound and sense to hardwood floors; bedroom’s wait; fall of their bodies, fan of her hair in spread over pillow and sheet; she—naked, tanned, and beautiful—sharp line of bronze and cream-white’s meet—purity untouched or changed by season’s sun from innocence of hue; pert and pointed high atop bold-natural of open breasts; all of her essence glowed and sheened in warm-intimate of soft-lighted room; long shadow’s cover of world outside while, within, she bared to him, revelation, hued-love of heaven-source.