The desert wind drags at her hair. Her glistening eyes reflect the empty sky. Someone to love, she says.
A knock on the door makes her jump, the book drops to the floor. Nobody ever knocks. She waits a long moment, her hand on the wooden table, touching the hardness of it, is she dreaming?
ANGEL LOVE BY LINDSAY SMITH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 61
The desert stretches to the flat line of the horizon (there’s this smudge of a purple outcrop of hills) and on the edge of an airstrip this tiny figure, Maddalena in a long black dress (the negative image of a wedding dress) holding at her waist a posy of bright pink flowers. The desert wind drags at her hair. Her glistening eyes reflect the empty sky. Someone to love, she says.
Callington and Little Josh lean forward against the scratched perspex window of the small plane cabin. The pilot turns back to them, points down at the curve of the earth, and shouts over the roar of the engine, there she is.
Suddenly the plane throws around in turbulence, they hold on tight. The pilot loves it, rides the plane through it wildly. Yeehaaaaaaa!!
Maddalena in t…