I couldn’t find a truly representational piece of art work this morning and also I’m running out of time to post, so I’m going with this lovely, atmospheric bit of sky. If later I manage to find/create/alter one I’ll add it to the post.
Thank you Brenda for the lovely words to play with.
discipline, pieces, stealing, heroic, moment, fly,
prophets, limits, gazing, patience, tears, sublime
The air is thick this morning.
She stumbles to the window to slide it open it and to hear the rain and traps a fly between the panes and gets lost for a while in the frantic buzzing.
She walks down the carpet to the cold tiles and stands in front of the mirror with her eyes fighting hard, stealing focused glances.
She dresses and collects herself and the pieces of paper representing her week’s discipline in a garbage bag, steps out and feels the rain hit her face as she walks thru the city.
She shortcuts across the grass focusing carefully on each trampled blade and smacks her elbow into the elbow of a stranger passing by.
Her bundle falls to the ground; a sketch peeking out from the black plastic bag.
The startled man turns and stares at it; a night scene of a country church.
He sniffs his patience away and makes a heroic gesture of wanting to help from under his umbrella.
The rain is mercilessly editing the art work, stretching the limits of charcoal, quickly twisting the cross on the steeple and blurring the stars.
She stands in the rain gazing at the paper and willing the man out of existence.
In this moment she sees, and her tears mingle with the rain. The man’s shadow disappears behind her.
And it happens just like that, not in the blink of an eye, maybe a blink and a quarter, maybe a blink and a half.
He doesn’t see it, no one does; the sublime twists on the paper.
She slowly pulls on a corner of the plastic bag and exposes all the paper to the rain.
Somewhere up high the prophets nod their heads in silence.
This is what they wanted to say.