Bailey, the German in Africa, allowed his mother to frolic in the shallow shores on the Kenyan coastline as he drew large amounts of water with each stroke of strength. Deeper into the sparkling sea he swam violently, away from the shore and his mother. Out of view of the numbers on the shore and closer to the tranquil of the deep. The water glistened and transparency mirrored his German face.
Eyes like his mother with a misty-blue look about them, squared chin, a young beard and thin lips which smiled permanently. Thick-set legs with feet encased in trainers constantly. Broad-shouldered and spiky hair. The Germanic skin seemed whiter than usual.
'Would you like to go for a walk later?' he enquired boldly in the hotel dining-area after briefly meeting in the sea. Walking, talking, swimming, sunning, meeting his mother, touring the hotels, meeting by day and by night. At 24. He seemed light and funny. And he believed, like me.
He was there.
His mail became too long and tedious. His trainers irritating on the eye. Availability, simplicity and that old 'seemingly light' became too light. Not enough of the deep.
No comments:
Post a Comment