Days Don't Count in the Mountains
Moonlight. Bright and bold cutting softly through the spires of the pine trees. It’s warmer than she thought it would be - she thinks with quiet anticipation as the two women pick their way carefully over the lake rocks to where the forest meets the waves. Moonlight. Bright and bold flowing over soft white skin as the women remove their clothing piece by piece and fold it on the rocks in piles - like cairns anchoring a point of reality before a daring adventure. Eyes close against the moonlight. Take a deep breath. A mountain breeze twists up from the lake and spirals around her ankles, her hips. It wraps her waist and whispers past her breasts. Exposed, vulnerable, alive. One step, then another, then another into the welcome of the woods. Only moments before she was but a visitor to this place - an onlooking admirer who didn’t belong here in the ethereal beauty of this mountain kingdom. But now, clothed only in moonlight, she steps into the wild as its Lady. A wild, beautiful cr...