Gypsy Nomad

Wandering from place to place; seven tiered peacock coloured skirt, batwing white chiffon shirt hanging from her shoulder. You look up to clear hazel coloured, crinkled eyes staring down at you all the while her smile is weathered.

Wandering from place to place; looks like no one has put down roots in this dust-covered land for quite a while. Rickety wagons come to a rest. Up ahead families untie their belongings. Men set up tents, plunging the desolate cracked, parched ground with cold metal stakes. Others flit about scrounging for wood in the back of their worn wagons.

Wandering from place to place; the night is cool, kids squeal, laughing, chasing each other around, kicking up dust. Cold, edgy rocks encase the glow of liquid amber, just illuminating lines and crevices in her mother’s face.

Wandering from place to place; have seen their share of heartache. A man who’s regarded only as Taurus, pulls her mother away, twirling her about. Another woman slinks over, making it a trifecta. Dancing in a chaotic circle, hands clap, hooting and shouting begin. Pots bubble away as tops clatter from the steam. Singing loudly, someone is off-key, but it’s okay.

Wandering from place to place; she scampers off into a tent, the ground is adorned with crimson blankets and silk, emerald throw pillows. She watches shadows dance and smiles to herself. Suddenly, a hairy hand glides through the tent fold motioning for her to take hold. She crawls, taps the center of his hand, and quickly snaps shut and opens again, leaving her gurgling in suspense. She takes hold and is pulled out, tossed into the air, caught, and spun around, legs free to assault the wind. Spreading her arms, she soars and giggles. As her flight slows, he cradles her; head tucked away in the crook of his shoulder.

“Come little one, it’s time to eat.”

This is all she knows. And she knows this will happen again and again, every time they wander from place to place.

©privatethoughtsmadepublic. 2014.


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