Cerulean

Tambourine

Today, I was minding my own business, sitting passively in a church. I was indifferent to it, the small children chattering away next to me. This all before I saw that tambourine, the broken plastic black tambourine. I'd seen it a million times, but today, it blessed me with a vision.

My face felt warm of bustling flames, my ears ringing. It felt nostalgic, like I was home at a place I've never been. I was in a desert, the sky above me twinkled like a happy elderly woman's eyes.

I was at a festival it seemed, like a wedding or a some rite of passage; people happy, drinking. A group of women in their 30s and younger, dressed in the most beautiful clothing. They all danced in a circle around the fire. They were all stunning but no, they didn't quite catch my attention. A lanky, lean guyy age did.

He was dressed in white, barefoot, bronze studs held his tunic together. The white saguaro flowers, crowned upon the tuffs of his raven hair, curled into gold as he edged too close to the greedy licks of heat but he couldn't care less. His tanned skin glowed like his iridescent grin, he acted as though he didn't stick out like a tall, sore thumb among the ladies. He seemed to get well with them just fine, and moved gracefully like a deer. Then his eyes caught mine, and even the flare stopped moving. He moved slow, a snake ready to strike, eyes turned from gold to green to a vibrant cerulean.

But the tambourine stopped, and back I was, staring at the handless plastic tambourine.