During her walk that afternoon, she came upon her next surprise. A face. Staring up at her from the asphalt. A mask of varied color, with one eye coyly closed, the other staring boldly at her, and green lips curved in a cupid’s bow smile. “Hello,” she said to the leaf, before the wind carried
Her reward for standing still: communion with a winged, wild, beauty.
Red-tipped points collide with circles within an illusion of stars creating timeless patterns that collapse to a center just in time to make you forever lost.
She wonders when there will be time again to court her Muse. To take her for long, solitary walks, and plunge with her deeply into dreams, where they dove together without caution, through tempests of color, desires, emotions, only to merge back into the world, no longer ordinary, having been touched by the sublime, having
Two sets of wings shimmered as the dragonflies, lifted by invisible currents, danced overhead locked in an ancient ritual and she watched from the ground, the sun caressing her skin.
Today she walked towards the sound of gently rolling water, away from the noise of cars, and into a paradise of chirping birds, and tall grass growing green, to purple to gold.
Warming morning rays have not yet reached her tissue-paper-thin wings. She is caught, immobile.
Like gossamer dream catchers, clouds lay down upon the sky where their filaments collect hope and desire as fragile as a wish.
Shell. A perfect still life presents itself.
Strangers gather atop the bluff. Brought together to celebrate the light. Bound together by food, drink and laughter—they celebrated not just the light in the sky, but that in each other as well.