⟣ 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝒶 ⟢

ALT The blade is out now, held straight up before her face. She looks down its edge the way one checks a promise. Seen from the side, her bare body and inked arm rise with the steel, the whole length of the frame given to the two of them.

ALT A woman kneels with her back to us, and the tattoo across it is a whole painted world of waves, flowers and a calm geisha. She draws a long blade out over her shoulder in one slow pull, and her face turns aside, already watching something we cannot see.

ALT She kneels facing us with the bare blade resting across her open hands, an offering or a warning, and lifts her eyes to meet ours, level and unsmiling. There is nothing to cover her and nothing she needs to say.

ALT The sword is set down and her head bows. Only then is there time to read the back she carries: a geisha among waves and peonies, inked from nape to waist, with leaf shadows moving across it like water over stone.

ALT Close now, in profile in the doorway, the hat brim low and one hand high on the old post. Her bare outline is drawn by the sky itself, and the horse waiting in the yard is only a soft brown shape. Noon holds her there one breath longer.

ALT A woman stands at the mouth of a dark barn, nothing but outline: hat, braced arm, the long curve from waist to boot. Outside it is noon, and a saddled horse is waiting. Her dog keeps watch beside her, and nobody is in a hurry yet.

ALT Out of the doorway now, at the horse's shoulder, one hand on the warm saddle. Her bare back stays in shade while the noon burns everywhere else. The ride hasn't started, and it is about to.