Meanwhile, Melody Muses…

 

She slips out of silk, chiffon

garments dropping to the floor

in silent summer sighs like

flower petals. Leaving them

where they fall, she fingers her

wardrobe with a practised hand,

stopping briefly at her warm

wool suit, dismissing it as

too formal, too restrictive.

Dissatisfied, fingers trace

the rack again and again –

this too plain, this too last year,

that too wintry for autumn

sun. A thought strikes. Mirth tugs at

the corners of her ruby

lips as she wriggles brilliant

toenails into a leafy

carpet. “I’ll do it!” she grins.