 | | 06/04/2014 06:29
Sur le blog Kiki and the Gypsy
The Present Of The Past
That green, green caravan. Chipped paint and the smell of burning sausages. A carpet of wild grasses and flowers spread before me, more majestic than any red velvet line. How I love this place. The placid horses in the adjoining field watching in bemusement as I place my spindly eight year old foot onto Titania's carpet and throw myself in the air. The fauvist ballerina, all arched hands and pirouetting limbs, flying into the sky and then rolling into the earth, grasping fistfuls of grass as if readying myself to consume the world. A haze of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony in my ears, my...
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