The waves are slowly approaching the beach, disappearing in the sand. The sea is sparkling, like a big blue sheet full of diamonds glistening in the sunlight. It’s still hot, from time to time there is a soft breeze that gently touches the face. An indescribable smell of summer is coming in from the sea, over which one loses thought and which awakens all senses. Time is standing still, eternity is becoming reality. The luxury of idleness, La Dolce Far Niente.
Eyes are wandering to the beach, sensually tracing the slim silhouettes, almost sculpting the more opulent ones. Eyes that are sending caressing looks, well hidden behind the black shades. Love and more is here, hovering around, slipping into one’s thoughts, composing images, uncovering hopeful wishes, rousing desires. Urgent ones, insignificant ones, who knows all the winding paths one’s thoughts can follow? Musing, imagining, dismissing ideas…………….a little frivolity, a little seriousness, who knows? And who really cares…?
Life is light, beautiful, flowing along smoothly during this late Sunday afternoon. The drink with a drop of Cachaça too much loosens up the mind while nearby music is playing softly. A foot is tapping, legs are restless, hips moving impulsively, and then shoulders follow discreetly. The Samba sway is on.
Moments full of joie de vivre mingle with occasional looks, eyes meet eyes over half-full glasses, smiles are exchanged. Mas que nada, the rhythm of happiness and of promise. Stilettos are swiping elegantly over a roughly concreted floor, a tie on the table, a shirt opened. A time to relax, no time for words.
The sunset leaves an orange glow over the beach. Feelings of joy, every step is a declaration of love to life. The bossa nova carries the dancers into the night, one beat for two. With the rhythm slowing down, they move closer, here and there is a beijo roubado, a stolen kiss. Bodies touching each other, captivated by the sounds of a softly strummed guitar, a melting saxophone, ethereal vibraphone and the pursuing maracas. In the tropical night, the rhythm goes on, and on, and on and carries them away.
Tomorrow is almost here. A wave, a smile, she runs to catch the first bus. The bossa nova sun shines in their heart.
Sunday will be here again soon.