The Decision Maker

She stood alone equidistant from the cabin and
the river that went out to sea.
Her long hair echoing the movement of the waving flag as it rose and fell beside her, like a ballerina’s response to the lapping water.
Her dress of curtain lace, way out of date in fashion-land, nevertheless had an unmistakable look of professional quality.
Her feet were shod with silver shoes that shone unexpectedly in the moonlight.
Across her forehead she displayed a band of gold, tied
in a knot just like the rope of the flag.
As she stood poised in decision making mode, she kissed her own hand tween finger and thumb, indicating through hunched shoulders that she was deep in thought about the decision she was about to make.
At last, after eternal moments. she hurried to the riverside. Taking a deep breath she cried out to sea.
Three times she bellowed the same thing. Then she waited.
Again her finger and thumb found their way to her lips. And again she hunched over, this time, in listening mode.
There was no reply to her trumpeted shout. So she turned, hair and dress turning with her in expressive wave, and walked slowly to the cabin resigning herself to – no result.



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