Stories Told In the Cracks Of A Vast Canvas
Originally Uploaded here by Virginia G
I saw the vehicle that draws lines on the road as I passed by Main and Second at one o'clock in the morning. It struck me as eminently fascinating and beautiful, as if I was watching some zen calligrapher participate in the strange alchemical rites required to hold a city together. Like seams for a dress. They even moved along slowly, and the white struck the ground with the force and grace that I imagine a brush of that size would were a giant writing kanji. The man at the helm, old and precise, the only one they let do something so difficult to undo. I liked it quite a bit, even though it lasted for a mere moment.
I saw her again, crimson and brown, black and flowing. She stepped out of the sun as it was setting, much like I imagine faerie princesses should. She doesn't disappoint, last time it was wings in the middle of the day and today it was upon a beach. What else should I expect? We lived together where faeries were born, only for a moment, in the falling decrepit remnants of the heart of that once-great kingdom. She walked right towards me and we spoke. It shattered inside me. I resisted the urge to tell her how I still loved her, after all this time, after all the silence. Instead, we spoke about what I did, and barely touched on her life, other than I'm very busy. I suppose it was appropriate, what with it being the solstice and all.
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Reading: "Dreams Underfoot" by Charles De Lint (still reading GEB as well, which I have borrowed from Juggler)