Sister Sue lived in the convent. Tim Flowers worked nearby on the land. Sister Sue had lived behind the wall for such a long time. Flowers thought it was all so grand. The convent was oh-so-splendid, thought he, with the well tended gardens and the gold studded walls..., the elegant paintings and well educated residents..., the canopy beds draped in such delicate satin sheets.
In the garden midst there was a water fountain, with a statue of tranquility's saint. By the small pool side surrounding the fountain, Sister Sue would appear following the rise of the sun. Donned in the anointed sheet of purity, she was, moving with the grace of proper learning; carrying neath her right arm, a large ceramic jar filled with grain for the many fish that swam about inside the pool shimmering so beautifully by her bared feet.
The puff of the morning wind moved the red tip bushes that hid the hole, through which peered the face of Tim Flowers. Tim tended the land surrounding the convent, making the garden park grow so lusciously. When she raised her glance, Tim stepped to the side, never desiring for her to catch him glaring, as she carried on with her assigned duties, awash in such charming grace.
With delicate hands she eased back her head scarf ..so gently, in a motion that was made ever so smoothly...; revealing a face so delicate, seemingly bathed in the beauty of angelic vapor. Like glue Tim's eyes were fixed upon her form, charmed by the beauty of her ways; like birds do for a Tom cat, before he leaps forth to end their mortal days.
Before him in the morning breeze, she moves with the grace of the venerated cherub as she cast handfuls of grain into the pool. The nun never knew from where he stood viewing, for the wall held him in the place that it should. As she walked he thought that the breeze alone moved her, for her feet never seemed to touch the stone of the garden, nor the wood.
Soon she moved from pool of fish, pausing before the lever of the wine press, suddenly glancing in the direction of the hole in the wall. Tim's figure froze like an effigy of cold ice, being concealed by the movement of the large red tip bushes. The nun glanced back down upon the wine press, again quickly glancing back up toward the hole in the wall.
With delicate hands she eased back her head scarf ..so gently, in a motion that was made ever so smoothly; revealing a face so youthful and delicate, being bathed in the misty beauty of angelic splendor. Like glue Tim's eyes were fixed upon her firm hour glass form, charmed by the beautiful euphoria in her ways; like some hen does with a sly fox, before he leaps forth to end her days.
The feeling called him forward with the rise of every sun, to the hole in the convent wall; silently watching this lady in waiting, feeling the pull of her spirit burn, quietly yearning to heed her body's call. In the silence of mental voice he yelled out to her in joy filled greeting, hoping that she would somehow lend ear. He wished that the feeling would in some way to find her, and both of their souls would discover the same cheer.
On the opposite side of the mist there between them, one peach morning her face rose to meet that of his. Before he could move to hide he was now forced to freeze, lest his figure her roaming eyes should find. The bushes in the breeze lost their motion, but when she turned he then saw his chance, so he stepped aside.., so slyly. Around the distant corner he now walked, anticipating that she would move to find the hole and his long time secret.
From within the now stilled bushes she saw the light through the hole in the wall. Gently she walked toward the opening, viewing the world outside beyond for the very first time. It was on this moment that she breathed a breath of new air. It was at this time that her eyes filled with new light. For in the morning distance she thought that she heard the whisper of her name, so she listened with all of her precious might.
On star filled nights she often hears a rustle in the hedgerow. When the wind puffs she sometimes detects a heavy thump. When the headmaster is working on his issues, she lies silently dreaming of taking time to make a forbidden jump. In her mind she beholds visions of liberty, by her breast she embraces feelings of embracing passion. Oh..., how she longs for the company so dearly.., while she plans for it in delicate fashion.
So every third night she slyly moves away from the company of others, always dreaming of doing so soon. She is lulled by the feeling of morning, though enchanted by the light of a full moon. With the rise of the sun she detects his presence just beyond the stone wall; for only a small glance of him she spoons with the coming of nightfall, and the soft golden glow of the mid-night lune.
The hole in the wall is still calling. The compelling power found in it's voice, she can no longer resist. She moves forward when the feeling is so real, and the urge to do so heavily insists; and the ability to skillfully manage this situation really thrills her, with each call of the Whip-Poor-Will.