Tuesday, April 7, 2009

...the woman is bending over her worktable, muttering quietly to herself. Her hands are busy with what, you cannot see. The sun shines through the open window above the table, striking the long braid down her back, throwing back golden red glints. She doesn't seem to notice anything outside that which holds her attention. A bee flies in through the window and wanders lazily through the warm air around her head. Raising a hand absently, she brushes the air beside her ear...

"Suscitatio aquilo, pulsus notos"

she murmurs as she works
The warm summers afternoon goes unnoticed, even as she straightens her back and seems to stare out the window, the honeyed sun bathing her face with warm colour. Her blue eyes are looking beyond what lies directly in front of them, lips pursed in thought. Her hands still from their work, and one rests on the table as the other reaches out to seemingly twine the sunbeams around her fingertips.
The herb-scented breeze teases her nose, and seems to bring her back to this world, her eyes fully open and gaze outside to the forested hillside, their cloudless blue reflecting the sky. The bee, finding no flowers from which to sup, ambles back towards freedom - the garden where the brightly bejeweled flora offer up their faces to kiss the sun, a golden promise of sweetness...

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