She has walked into the middle of a dance. Leaves pirouette, tumble, twirl, glide… …in silent jubilation to the ground where they shimmy… a tap dance, a chorus line… …a marvel. An invitation.
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
When he was still young and green, he liked to say, “I’m separate from you.” Her reply never varied. “That’s how it should be.” Even so, he suspected there was something beneath her quiet, calm patience, a secret that belied her answer. He thought it might have to do with the echoes of her he
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.