I watched as they placed her on a pedestal in the town square.

She was like a goddess. A marble goddess in a flowing white toga. I noticed her small breasts and pouting mouth, her tightly-plaited hair and her downcast eyes. She seemed alone and vulnerable.

I watched as the two lethargic workers untied her from a cart and with groaning ropes and much cursing lift her unceremoniously onto a plinth.

Later that day she looked up at me and I looked back. Much later, after many such exchanges, she smiled. It was a small but perceptible gesture. One that lifted my spirits and filled my heart.

I have a recurring dream.

I sit astride my prancing steed. The day is bright and warm and children crawl over me as usual. The stickiness of their toffee fingers mixes with the dust about my shoulders — and the noise, the laughter and the yelling penetrate deeper and deeper into my being until finally I am able to move. » Read the rest of this entry «