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biegnij.lola
She is not quite imaginary, but not quite real. She’s not misunderstood; she is simply beyond understanding. She is a lyric in the land of the mute. She is a dance in the domain of the lame, a painting in the province of the blind. We cannot touch her any more than we can touch the moon by reaching for its reflection on the still surface of the lake.
She is the empress of the air. Her coach is drawn by swarms of silver-winged bees. She smells faintly of moonlight, and when she walks her gowns susurrate like water whispering through river-rounded stones. She has too much wisdom to always be wise. She is enamored by the smell of corn on the stalk.
The wise choose not to believe in her. The very wise know it doesn’t matter if they believe or not.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
