#abbots
Having just climbed
through ages
up what seemed an endless flight
of narrow winding gothic spiral stairs
I step out
right into the wind's brute force
instinctively
my arms grasp for a hold
fearful lest I blend suddenly
with the white horses
and the fields of the Camargue
far down below
Wedged safely
in a nook of stone
a hefty tourist
leans out wide between the walls
toward the setting sun
her summer skirt is blown waisthigh
revealing
unexpectedly delicate lace
above sturdy thighs
her body opens
to the strong soft touch
of the Mistral
A little later
she walks past me
clothes gathered
level gaze calm
and self-assured
and leaves me wondering
whether the mighty abbot
on his solitary tower
and his exclusive brotherhood of men
had ever understood
the wind that blew
and still blows
through two feet of stone
like they were silk
and thrills a woman
to her bone
* * *
© Walter W. Hoelbling
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC