mondaying
Interconnectedness. This is the singular word to define it all, he says, everything. She brushes her hair away from her broad forehead, clears her throat and it sounds like a cathedral organ. The bellows, the pipes rumbling through the mountains of onlookers, over their valleys, their bald heads that glow like fireflies in the torchlit dawn. And grievings with these weavings, too, she adds, smoke twirling around the ringlets of her downy hair, through them, auburn tunnels ending in some sort of meadow filled with moths and blooming answers. How long have we been here, she turns grim, even more so than usual, how long have we been here with the Quorum watching, watching over us, she asks him, making sure to annunciate that last triad of words with the utmost delicacy. This all seems so laughable, doesn't it? So banal-the Quorum, he asks, really, has there even been such a group in anything but in a world of creation? This just has to be manufactured, he ruffles his own straight hair, it looks like a nest of broken twigs.
- Nikon D7000
- 1/100
- f/1.4
- 50mm
- 250
Comments
Sign in or get an account to comment.
