`Hia,' she sighed over her shoulder as she bent down to the spring to fill her water jar. She never wore shoes and with her skirts tucked up in the waistband her bare legs shone in the light of the sun.
She came over to sit by me on the grass and there we were drinking the blueberry brandy and talking about the lowlands and all sorts of things. Then I put my arm around her waist and she was so soft and so warm through the coarse linen of her shirt. And she laid her head on my shoulder as if she were very tired.
Her lips were soft and warm and her flower smell was all about me and the sun was warm on my back and the grassy bank was so comfortable that I closed my eyes intoxicated by her warmth.
It was me that noticed it getting cold, the sun gone out of sight behind gathering clouds, the clatter of the spring suddenly loud. I sat up with a start and looked around us.
`Look, you won't tell anyone I was here with you?'
`No,' she said, staring at me in surprise.
`Look, I came along today to keep you company, while you were drawing the water, me thinking you would be lonely here with nobody near, while you were drawing the water, all day on your own; the drink, must have gone to my head, that would be what it would be, you drawing the water, and all...'
What she did was to jump up in a huff and straighten her clothes and snatch up the water jar then off she marched down the path with her bare feet slapping on the smooth slates like a pair of wet sole.
Either there is something lacking in my technique or it was all for the pun on sole; or, of course, both.