Sunday, July 11, 2010

We are all failures - at least the best of us are

She's sitting on a riverbank in a haze of golden sunlight. It's strange, she thinks, it was raining just a second ago. Memory of grey clouds, the dark horizon and the rumble of thunder echo somewhere in the back of her mind. It slips through her fingers, river over stone. The warm touch of sunlight on her skin melt away the thoughts in perfect rhythm to the titter of birds in the trees, the soft hum of insect wings. Her face tilts towards the light, sunflower instincts, a lone figure amongst the green. Encased in ethereal peace, she wonders...she wonders why it can't always be like this. It comes unbidden, sourceless, she has no recollection of how the magic came to be. Floating on air in these flashes of happiness, she hardly believes it will last. It's not her disposition to be optimistic. The sleepy-warmth of the air dulls her sense of self-preservation, and she so desperately wants to give in. Soon she will forget why it's dangerous to hold out, soon she will forget why she doesn't dare belief. In this glorious cathedral of summer, she forgets herself. The sunlight consumes her, lifts her, takes her. Only the wind can set her down.


Music: Drizzle of rain on the deck
Mood: Pensively mellow

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