HandHexian

People of Pisces

The river flowed in a zigzag direction of an orderless flow.

Sunup and a clear-skied lid.

Towering windmills populated the hilly green mounds.  The four-bladed turbines rotating counterclockwise to the clockwise wind.

One pebble-filled path to follow.  The surrounding meadow filled with orange tiger lilies and black-eyed geranium.  Pretty.

Cibuco Cafe

The rooster stretched and crowed the sunup.

Manus Neco, relaxed and inspired, nudely seated on a timber rocking cradle, serenading the countryside of Corozal.

Noodled and twanged by the Flat-Footed Astronaut, melodious, and with imbued swing, his custom wooden ten-stringed keyhole-shaped Cuatro chanting.

The Cuatro

Wavy jet-black was the young boy's hair.  Seated on a banquito, a small wooden bench, he picked and strummed his seashore-colored Cuatro.

The lute guitar seemed olden.  The strings twisted at headstock.

Its tuners careworn and loose from continual bad tuning.  The rosette was ripped, and the bridge clinging to black wire tape.  Gooey adhesive on the soundboard, vibrating to his improvised tune.

THE JIBARO

The twinkling black yearning.  An undiscovered dais anticipating the flat-footed print of true-hearted pride and honor.

Impressive the launch site.  Satiny silver with glassy spirals of blinking filament surrounding the virgin skycraft.  Prepped vertical and focused up.

Rocket boosters defrosting, and the bleached smoke swirling, the edgy excitement tingling.  The suspenseful maiden takeoff orgasmic under the dark blue lid of the eventide.