And that was the strange miracle. No one was looking.
It started as a dare. A whisper from a friend at a party: "You? You wouldn't last an hour." zita dans la peau d une naturiste
She waded into the water. Without the drag of a soggy bathing suit, the lake felt like silk. She floated on her back, staring at the perfect blue dome of the sky. Her breasts pointed upward, her legs drifted apart, her arms spread wide. She was a starfish. She was a seed. She was Zita, but not the Zita who checked her reflection in shop windows or tugged at her skirt hem. This was Zita without the costume. And that was the strange miracle