2024 December #012. Shadows leap in obsidian grace, rhythm of history, a contorted pace. A dance macabre, a silent plea, between the folds of reality, they’re free. Flame-headed muses with bodies ablaze, their twists and turns, a labyrinthine maze. Ephemeral reach for what glimmers beyond grasp, an echo of culture in a synesthetic clasp. They spin, they writhe, they defy the sun, in a world where the threads of time come undone.
Intertwined limbs, a tangle of might, a confluence of darkness and light. A citrus glare among the stoic fruit, a story of creation, life’s undying pursuit. Apple, cherry, bone, and seed, nature’s whispers in an entropic creed. Curled fingers gesture to invisible strings, silhouetted against time’s vast wings. Each movement a word in a silent oration, a tableau of birth, growth, and transformation.
The ballet, an obsidian bond, a relentless strive, mirrored in the ceaseless drive to survive. A synthesized history, an artificial frame, enacting the past, yet none the same.
stephaneselavy
