 | | 09/10/2013 03:27
Sur le blog Kiki and the Gypsy
Autumn Tale: The Firebird
It is not until I move that you see me high up in the tree. My silken down, hidden through reddening leaves, catches the light for a moment as I move my beak to preen, leaning back in the swaying branches ruffled expansively by the breeze. Every season peels back further entropy. I raise my bright head and breathe in the smell of sweet decay, pungence peaty and worm filled dense with the hum of apples growing golden on the bough, fruit and leaves preparing to let themselves go to soft oblivion, to be trodden to bare bone and born...
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