07-11-2020, 03:21 PM
The air flowed outward from her lungs on a long, slow exhale, and Kemala moved from the first position into another. Beneath her, a blanket was spread across the coarse sand. She had no yoga mat, unable to ferry one throughout her limited packing across Asia. The cushion of sand beneath was plenty soft. The callouses of a life hard-worked blunted any potential twinges of sharp rock should they burrow their way to the surface.
After another six breaths, she shifted from the downward angle of a dolphin pose into a challenging balance upon her palms. The balance was internal as much as external as her feet lifted from the blanket and knees perched upon the back of her arms. Her shoulders braced the weight of herself as she breathed out the ache of any potential strain. She was small, but her arms were braces of sinuous muscle.
From the inversion, she lowered herself back to the blanket, shifting from a challenging script into a recovery pose. The stretch soothed the ache from her back from long travel on buses and trains as her eyes glazed across the surface of the lake water. For a moment, she imagined the undulating little slaps of watery movement to mimic the ocean. The lake was so large, a form of waves licked the beach, but it was obviously different. Before her heart began to yearn, she focused on her breathing and meant to absorb the sensation of homesickness when a sudden flutter of motion darted across her line of sight. A paper tumbled on the wind, coming to rest soggy where the lake met dry land.
A girl followed quickly, chasing down the mutinous paper.
The girl was soaking wet, a mop of hair sticking her shirt to her back as if having dunked in the lake water. Kemala was presently wearing long black leggings and a bright yellow yoga shirt that spilled over one shoulder yet she was still chilly in the cool air and here this girl was clothed sodden and happy as a dolphin under a rainbow.
She rested on the blanket, meditative trance broken by the intrusion, both visible and audible. One brow lifted in response, but not to the murky Russian accent (quite distinct from those of the locals) or the demonstrated drawing, it was for the sudden presence of familiarity she hadn’t encountered before. It was like a flower stretching open pedals to the sun following a heavy rain: welcome and peaceful.
“Is no harm,” she replied, her slender eyes studying the girl. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar to me.” She blinked, but the question wasn’t intrusive, although expecting compliance with an answer.
After another six breaths, she shifted from the downward angle of a dolphin pose into a challenging balance upon her palms. The balance was internal as much as external as her feet lifted from the blanket and knees perched upon the back of her arms. Her shoulders braced the weight of herself as she breathed out the ache of any potential strain. She was small, but her arms were braces of sinuous muscle.
From the inversion, she lowered herself back to the blanket, shifting from a challenging script into a recovery pose. The stretch soothed the ache from her back from long travel on buses and trains as her eyes glazed across the surface of the lake water. For a moment, she imagined the undulating little slaps of watery movement to mimic the ocean. The lake was so large, a form of waves licked the beach, but it was obviously different. Before her heart began to yearn, she focused on her breathing and meant to absorb the sensation of homesickness when a sudden flutter of motion darted across her line of sight. A paper tumbled on the wind, coming to rest soggy where the lake met dry land.
A girl followed quickly, chasing down the mutinous paper.
The girl was soaking wet, a mop of hair sticking her shirt to her back as if having dunked in the lake water. Kemala was presently wearing long black leggings and a bright yellow yoga shirt that spilled over one shoulder yet she was still chilly in the cool air and here this girl was clothed sodden and happy as a dolphin under a rainbow.
She rested on the blanket, meditative trance broken by the intrusion, both visible and audible. One brow lifted in response, but not to the murky Russian accent (quite distinct from those of the locals) or the demonstrated drawing, it was for the sudden presence of familiarity she hadn’t encountered before. It was like a flower stretching open pedals to the sun following a heavy rain: welcome and peaceful.
“Is no harm,” she replied, her slender eyes studying the girl. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar to me.” She blinked, but the question wasn’t intrusive, although expecting compliance with an answer.