She wasn't about to let this moment pass, no way not this diva. See, she was a witch. She had the power, she had the panache. So, she brought thumb to middle finger; of both those daring hands, and snapped. Swift, purposeful, elegant, Snap!.
[Carambola fruit; also called five finger image from google dot com]
The wine was chilled, at a just right temperature, a sparkling carambola. The mini tablecloth, checkered, shifted a little. Pinks and charcoal was her design for today. The top of the wine bottle, peaked out from the basket, Ah yes, there were rose buds too; red.
They had been apart for too long. This was her man. Fate had brought them back together. This part of the scenario, was not of her doing. It was his. He created power, he created witches, he created free will. He created this moment long ago in the annals of beginnings.
[Calabash mango image from google dot com]
Fingers snapped. And then, the questions, the amazement the wonder; all wrapped into a puzzling bundle of "How? What? wha...Is this a dream?" " No sweetheart," she replied. "This is not a dream, its a prayer answered"
So they sat on the bare tiled step. The topmost rung of the staircase. The welcome mat had disappeared. She, put a finger to his lips. Silencing him with her eyes. Let it be, just, let it be. "We are having a picnic on the steps this morning."
Near the side wall, over the galvanized roof of the garage, calabash mangoes; full rounded, though green-skinned, were ripe for the picking
wind through mango leaves -
what do they say kiskadees
when they twitter so
DIVA WITCH.1 © gillena cox 2016
– Mark Twain
Written for Prompt Nights Truth is stranger than Fiction