Summer scents waft the air as she reclines against the wicker pillow. Her hand sweeps down slowly, slowly, dipping into the pool, sending vibrations deep through the crystal black water. Two silver pins adorn her head, brilliant against the sky and the sun, whose rays and temperaments swirl about across her face, her face: unparalleled.
Seeing a willow through the water, she casts off her heavy garments, leaving but her raiment, disappearing into the water. It is dark; but there is much light around her. Down, spiraling, until she reaches the willow. She reaches out, faintly brushing the tinged, smooth bark. The colours meld in a beautiful myriad, red, black, white, gray. She wonders, why red, today? Pressing close to the tree, she imagines its sorrow, of why it was named such, named a weeping willow. There is a chirp.
Her gaze falls upon a small sparrow. He is motionless, save his beak. Blue. Why is he blue? Is it not red, black, white, gray? She smiles. Something out of place. Something like her.
"Yo, yo. --"
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hey.