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.
Warming morning rays have not yet reached her tissue-paper-thin wings. She is caught, immobile.
The star swung, like a metronome… back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until Jodi felt something shift inside—like finely tuned tumblers clicking into place. It was as if she were watching herself from somewhere outside of herself. She watched herself dismount her bike and walk it up the walkway to the cottage.
In a frenzy to reach the orchid first, my hand brushes her hand. I gasp as a cold I’ve never experienced penetrates the area she has touched. The chill is complete: it is like death. Now, all I can do is stand here holding my hand, watching as she leisurely picks up the flower. When
I find myself standing in the middle of a square, holding a black orchid. I am reminded of a place I have visited in my dreams. Crumbling stone walls form a circle around me and two huge lion statues, cast from shiny black metal, stand guard beside the entrance. Colorful pennants hang regularly in stark