HyperBob
I’ve the face of a sinner but the hands of a priest
Night falls on an empty parking lot, and the bright lamps that line it throw a strange pattern of sharp spotlights and deep shadows on the ground. The last traveler left hours ago. There’s no one here to see. There’s no gasp will break the thin air now.
The acrobat sets up her frames and ropes without a word, then smooths down the creases on her faded leotard. She touches a hand to her thick braided hair and half-wishes she could watch it whip back and forth, like the heavy tail of a cat, while she flies.
The silence in the lot is as complete and satisfying as the nervous rustle of a hushed crowd, and as soon as she begins to swing across the space the air moving past her ears recalls the soft applause she has not heard in years. The acrobat makes slow circles in the sky, her body, like the weight of a pendulum, marking the passage of time.
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, meerasethi and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
