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     Angelisa rolls onto her side and props her head up with her hand.
      "Well, yes it is," she replies with confidence. "Except that the landscape I am writing about is the human body."
      She holds her position, awaiting his response and watching as his mind mulls over the explanation.
      "Alright," he replies, dismissing his confusion with ease.
      She rolls onto her back again and François assumes the photographers posture once more. Her stomach falls slowly, hides from the shimmering fire and a shadow crawls across its width. As it rises the shadow recedes and light catches the multitude of tiny light hairs that encircle the dip of her belly button. His instinct takes control - click. Perfect, he thinks to himself and lowers the camera.
      "Next?" He inquires with excited urgency.
      Angelisa rolls onto her side again and begins drawing. François watches her hand flick the pencil in short strokes and with deft speed. He glances down at her exposed belly, watching it rise and fall in time with his own breathing, and recaptures the image in his mind of the photo he has just taken. The white of paper disrupts his view, and he takes hold of it, feeling his eyes contract as they focus. The image is clear and elicits a new feeling inside him. Angelisa waits, watching him askance, willing him with her unmoving stare. Their eyes connect and he nods agreement, feeling his nervousness tickle the inside of his stomach. His hands begin to shake, rattling the strap against the metal of the camera. She sits up straight to face the fire and grabbing hold of her sweater with both hands, pulls it over her head in one fluid motion and discards it to the side. Reaching behind her with one hand she pinches the thin strip of material, and with a snap of elastic the bra comes unhooked. With her arms close at her side she shuffles out of it and cranes her neck to François.
      "Ready?"
      He nods, and in that short movement betrays his tension as he attempts to restrain his nerves and the shaking of his hand. She is confident and exudes control, holding his eyes with hers as if to reassure him. He glances at the drawing once more, then at Angelisa as she slowly raises her arms, bending and grasping them at the elbows as she rests them on her head. His eyes shift downwards, follow the curve beneath her arm and rest on the image of her breasts, its teasing roundness partially shaded. In the periphery of his vision he can feel her breathing, sense the rise and fall that, for the moment, mirrors his own pattern. His mouth is dry. Sweat starts to form under his arms, squeezing out from the hold they have against his body and racing along his ribs in an icy stream. Angelisa arches her back a little, then stretches upwards with her shoulders before softly sinking them back into her relaxed pose. François examines the line of her backbone, almost invisible except for the row on tiny mounds that catch and reflect the subdued light. He feels a desire stirring within, pumping blood to his heart in heavy laboured bursts. His muscles are tense now, overcoming the vibrations in his hands but concentrating a powerful pulsation in his chest and between his legs.