Wind and sun rage,
hair shines black.
A figure dances,
silken smooth as kitten’s fur or slender morning grass.
A child, yet grown, watches.
Eyes intent with wonder,
they mouth questions,
love,
delight,
a searching soul
dreaming dreams in endless night.
A globe: a house, some trees, a forest deep.
A cataclysm shakes the frigid
orb. Though small, it breaks the world apart.
Snow shoots up, explodes as crystal ice on glass.
The simple juxtaposition lays bare the base. Flaking plastic drifts over
earth and rusting heaps of junk. The scene, innocently ambiguous,
innocence itself subject to a melting world.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 