Chapter 27

Here, among the myth and language of the flowers, she feels blissful and sinister. Tepid lust encompasses her being and tranquil mind within that field of flowers. What transpires here is nothing less than exquisiteness within a woman’s soul, the biting flavor and pent urges of euphoria that one can become flustered over, with, and about. Julia inhales the pungent longing of the field’s prickly niceness. She licks her lips once, twice, three times and feels her heart race with excitement. Beads of perspiration cover her arms and the corded splay of her pale neck. Her fingertips feel as if they are on fire and her toes curl as if she is under a magical spell that only the field of her dream can establish.