Cartwheeling

It was Wynnum Writer's group this morning and some phases were selected to present a paper using them. This was my contribution. We also had a playwright Margaret Daykin come by for a chat on rewriting works and tell us that her play, Presume Guilty, will be on in the Wynnum Municipal Council Hall on the 4th June. This is the story of Ellen Thompson, the only woman hanged in Queensland. Oh my! Meanwhile below is Cartwheel
Effulgent daybeams drifted serenely down to the quiet curve of the beach, where the waves gently lapped the soft, golden sand. The aqua of the sea close to shore offset the sands of gold and further out the deep blue of the sea proper reflected the brilliance of the blue sky. The curve of the beach had rocky promontories at each end, and carried various types of coastal vegetation in the scanty soils and along the flanking sand dunes. The beach, a lonely spot beside a serene ocean. A place of pleasure to a very young women, and an inspiring place to a very enamoured troubadour.
A lone figure with long brown wavy hair and clothed in a trim blue floral bathing suit, was cartwheeling along the sand with elfish grace, her brown limbs slender but strong as down the beach she wheeled, enjoying the feel of the sand on her hands and feet; enjoying her movements and the beach itself, her youth, her freedom and the beauty she knew she had. It was a beautiful, pleasant sight. Not everyone could enjoy such a picture of a lone girl in her late teens enjoying the movement of her body on such a lovely, peaceful beach. The girl had no thought of being watched, as she knew this section of the beach well, where seldom anyone visited and she was pleased to have it to herself. The far away threats of war did not trouble her contented mind as she wheeled to the jutting promontory of rocks that marked one end of the beach, expertly turned and cartwheeled back to the other end.
She was being watched.
The man in uniform stood in amongst the scrub, staring down onto the beach in amazement at the vision doing cartwheels. An enamoured troubadour of some reputation, he had never seen anyone so lovely in all his travels in war-torn places overseas and was captivated. The beautiful, brown-haired lassie’s enthralling charm enthralled him as she cartwheeled her way along the beach, the slimness and golden brown of her limbs, the fine texture of her skin had him in raptures. He must get to know her while he was repatriating from his wound. It was imperative that he get to know her. But how? To do so on a lonely beach might evoke fear. He would watch and wait and see where she went to after the beach. The vision of loveliness must have a home somewhere.
It came time to leave this small place of paradise, and the beautiful young women stopped her cartwheeling, nimbly climbed up the sand dunes bordering her paradise and set off towards suburbia beside the coastal road. The man followed discreetly, and was rewarded when his beauty turned into a gate of a small, asbestos home beside that road. He hastened across the road and waited discreetly near a palm tree, to be rewarded by her re-emerging, dressed in a slimly-fitting summer’s frock of gay yellow sprinkled with tiny blue flowers. He followed as she headed down the road towards a small shop and burger joint. Lunch time and he followed her in. A table was selected and the beautiful woman sat down. He joined her, introduced himself and bamboozled her with his florid oratory. His reward was fiery indignation at his attempting to sit with her and ‘pick her up’ as she informed him, a soldier whose uniform she held in the greatest regard. She was a freeborn soul and abhorred such treatment of herself, and even more so of the uniform. The man was astounded. He had never been treated in such an abysmal manner before by women. His fortified selfishness had never been able to see beyond his own selfish needs. The enamoured troubadour sat there, stunned, as the vision of loveliness in elfish grace left her seat and stalked out in her anger.
The beautiful beach did not see him back there again and the vision of loveliness continued to frequent its shores, enjoying her solitude and exercise.