Zita, who never backed down from a challenge, found herself the following Saturday morning folding her clothes into a neat pile on a wooden bench. She placed her sunglasses on top, her book beside them, and her sandals underneath. The air was cool and smelled of pine needles and damp earth. She took a breath, then let the towel fall from her shoulders.
She had spent forty-two years learning to live inside her clothes. It had taken only two hours to learn how to live inside her skin. zita dans la peau d une naturiste
A small boy ran past, chasing a butterfly. He was maybe five. He didn't know he was naked. He was just a boy, and the butterfly was just a butterfly, and the world was just the world. Zita smiled. Zita, who never backed down from a challenge,
The first step was the hardest. It wasn't the cold, but the looking . She felt like a raw nerve, exposed to the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees of the naturist campsite. Her arms crossed her chest automatically, then uncrossed. Stop it, she told herself. No one is looking. She took a breath, then let the towel
She drove home with the windows down. The wind found her again.