Monday, June 27, 2011

Monday, June 20, 2011

uncertain future

Her black porkpie hat had a thin, scarlet ribbon, and, as she walked, the wind kept blowing back her dark sheeny mane, with wisps finding their way into her into her scarlet mouth, which was painted with the care one takes with fine calligraphy. She saw a small café, headed there with a brisk step and, oblivious to the clamor, sat down at a recently vacated table, her lilaceous eyes glinting like a flame haunted by its demise.

"Café, madam," mouthed the waiter amid the encroaching din of the crowd.
"Yes," and she returned instantly to a sallow stare.

She had left a note on her escritoire. It was penned on a scented floral paper (some wildflower print), and she knew that the fragrance, like that of frangipani, would haunt her into the hollow depths of an indeterminable future.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


She boarded a bus, hesitantly, almost clumsily, and headed for those blithe fields, where erect poppies gentrify the violet shade under behemothian trees and farragos of dried umbels seem to dance a passionate tango. This was, as she had strenuously explained to her younger sister Murasaki, to purge herself of the pathogenicity of city life. But, she was between Scylla and Charybdis for she recalled many occasions where the glittering lights of motorcars, like haphazard stars in the granite sky, produced a surfeit of tantalizing joy in her often mendacious, or as she was fond of saying, deeply conflicted soul.

The first photo is of a common canna lily, the second is the gloriously wisteria-colored Bauhinia bartlettii, and the umbelliferous Anethum graveolens is last.