That is how I would describe the types of men that surround Maz.
Another word that comes to mind when I think of the common theme between her and her men.
Is the word that inspires awe and lust for a life lived alongside Maz.
I lost her for months. Maz won’t do Winter.
This time, Maz is more terrible than ever. Wild, untamed and prepared to plunge into the Summer with more than her usual reckless abandonment.
She is the embodiment of rock ‘n’ roll, and it’s impossible not to notice. We’re in for a wild ride. Maz and I.
We may get lost. Don’t come find us.
She jetés from the train to the platform… headphones on.
The music has invoked a mood.
Her straight back, head held high, long legs strut in time, the devil in her eye. Hips…. sway.
They all stare at her, wondering what makes her smile.
What divine rhythm makes her move that way?
Rubbing my eyes, I wake up to the smell of coffee and the crackle of the record player. The sweet African beats of Sunny Ade come to life and I’m up. Maz is ready to play.
The front door of the bungalow is flung open and breakfast cocktails are served on the porch. The bicycles are readied for beach and boardwalk adventures, surfboards attached.
Summer has called. Maz has arrived.
It was Summer and the boardwalks of Coney Island stretched out for miles ahead of us. There was a reggae sound system blaring and our bare feet dancing.
A beautiful distant dream. How I long for those days again Maz.
We follow her footprints in the snow. She doesn’t own rubber boots. I can imagine that her feet are very wet and cold now. She ran from the car hollering and whooping. Then we lost her in the trees as she headed towards the river.
After discovering an angel in the snow, I know that the rest of her is wet also.
We follow the prints a little further until I am hard hit in the back of my head. With the sound of her haughty laughter coming from behind me, I spin around to find Maz rolling about in two feet of snow.
I can play this game. It’s on.
She looks up at me as a tear escapes from her eye. Mascara runs down her cheek. Rare is the moment when Maz lets her guard down. Like a true Cancerian, no one would ever perceive just how sensitive a soul she really is.
Just like everyone else, she is susceptible to heartache and sadness. However, fearless, fiery, sassy and a touch brash is how most would describe her.
It’s a special thing to be allowed into her softer realm. For all her forte, love and charisma, there is an intense vulnerability that compliments that. Her shell is hard.
No one gets to see that side of her, but I think it’s just as beautiful.
It’s legal for a woman to be topless in the state of New York. Truly….
Maz will take full advantage of this law to evade unsightly tan lines. Or may it be that she will take any opportunity to free herself from the constrictions of clothing. Either way, some may claim ‘exhibitionist’ or ‘conservative antagonist’. She is neither.
The liberty that Maz displays is entirely unaware. I love that about her.
‘What will people think?!’ is not even a momentary thought.
Soaking in the sun’s energy and sifting golden sand through her fingers, she is lost in meditation. Maz arouses a rejuvenated Summer spirit. A goddess of independent beauty and strength.