It's like coming home.

To say that I have been away from my blog for a while would be quite the understatement. My last post was September 11th, 2011 --- It's now 2014. 

It's true... life passes in the blink of an eye.

I could sit here and list off all the things -- good and bad -- that have happened in those 2+ years, but why look back? It's time to think about what's going to happen THIS year!

I'm feeling renewed in my endeavors to put more of what's in my head down 'on paper'. I'm not sure any of you have thought about what might be in my head, so let's just say there are no rules up there. It's uncharted territory.

To start things off right, I'm flashing back to something I wrote with my critique group. It's a little something based on a writing prompt - first line of a song.

Witchy Woman --- by Amie Grayson

Raven hair and ruby lips, sparks flew from her fingertips. I knew it wasn’t fire, but the way the light caught her highly polished nails made it appear she possessed magic.

Maybe she did have extraordinary powers. I found myself entranced by her since the moment I walked into the room. Wearing a dark-colored, sleeveless dress with a short skirt that fluttered wide with her movements, hers steps were filled with purpose and poise. She must have felt all eyes on her, but she never acted like it.

I stood across the room and took in every exquisite detail of her. From the full gorgeousness of her long tanned legs to the way her dress caught the curves of her body, she could have stepped directly off the beaches of Miami to the hole-in-a-wall club we were in.

I tried but was unable to take my eyes off her and as I watched her, caught a hint of Latin heritage in the sultry features and dark wavy hair. The exoticness of her ancestors, and all the generations before her, were reflected in the beauty before me—deep, wide eyes, full lips and the way she moved her hips. I’ve come to realize that only Latina women are born with hips that move like that.

After I watched her travel from partner to partner, finally making her way off the floor, the music changed from a fast-paced Samba to a slow Rumba, or the “Dance of Love” as I was taught. The moment had come. I knew if I didn’t take the chance now, I never would.  

Taking a quick inventory of my clothes, I ran a hand down the front of my shirt in hopes the wrinkles I arrived with had fallen out in the steamy heat of the night. Inhaling in a deep breath, I held it slightly as I walked closer to the vision from the dance floor.

She stood by the bar laughing with the bartender and I watched little rivets of sweat run down her skin as she lifted chocolate-colored locks of hair in order to fan her neck. It was such a simple gesture, but I found myself staring at the way tiny strands stuck to her silkened skin.

“Excuse me…” I said and she turned her eyes to me.

“Hola?”

I smiled, held out my hand and asked, “May I have this dance, por favor?”

She returned the smile, only it was 1000 times more beautiful when she said, “Si.”

She took my hand and allowed me to lead her onto the dance floor. In a situation where I would typically be a bundle of nerves, I pulled her close and began to dance the steps that my mother taught me many years before.

I caught a brief flash of surprise when she realized I did know how what I was doing and the steps came easily to me. Admittedly, I didn’t look the part of a traditional Latin dancer. Natural blond hair and blue eyes were passed down from my father’s side of the family—immigrants from Europe.

Encouraged by the hand she rested on my arm, I placed my own hand in the small of her back and closed the distance left between us. I could feel her hips rotate against me and was immediately seduced by her body.

The way her laughter caught in the rush of air as we danced brought back memories of how my mother taught my father the steps of the Rumba over and over until he was able to master them. Watching the two of them together over the years gave me the desire to learn the steps myself. My mother had an unlimited amount of patience as she repeated the dance until it was second nature to me.

Feeling that pride inside that my mother had for me, I spun my partner around and felt her come more alive under my hands. The sparks from her fingertips appeared again as the light reflected upon them and I remembered my thought from earlier in the night about how she must possess some sort of magic. As I held her in my arms, feeling out bodies move against each other in time with the music, I could believe she cast a spell on me. The scent of her was intoxicating and I drank it in with every step we took.

I didn’t want the music to end. I wanted there to be no space between the two of us, only to have her in my arms on the dance floor as long as the spell lasted.

 See ya soon!