Sunday, April 1, 2007

OLD OAK

The old oak's branches, heavy with year's growth lay close to the ground. The mist covering the top so as to shadow it's age. There at the base of the trunk she sat. Quietly, always quietly. Her porcelain skin glows beneath the shadows of large branches. Cloaked in raven tresses gently framing her delicate features. Her eyes are as the sea, deep and blue. She sits with a single leaf from the oak. Her thin fingers caressing each point and side. Her hands move as to music. Graceful and slow, with each move made with such ease. Her eyes float among the edge of where the ocean, she's walking on a wire.

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