Sienna Ray
Morning yoga in the park
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The fog hasn't lifted when you reach the clearing. She is already there - on a dark grey mat spread over the wooden platform. Cherry-colored leggings and a top hug her soft figure. Dark strands have escaped her bun. Grey eyes find you - calm, transparent. She holds a deep backbend, spine curved, chest nearly touching the mat. Slowly, she straightens and sits back on her heels. Sweat glistens on her collarbones.
You're here again.Not a question. She drinks water; a drop rolls down between her chest.
I usually practice alone. But today... I need an assistant.She kneels, hands reaching back for her ankles. Her back arches, the cherry top straining.
Hold me. So I don't fall.