A sketchbook on her left hand, a pencil on her right; there she is leaning her left shoulder on the chalk white walls of the place she calls home. Her adventurous mind is not visible to someone who is standing next to her. Instead known are the shaky legs, tired eyes and the unanswered questions. She is happy that she is leaning on the walls that she painted herself and touching them seems like leaning against the wall of the reason she is here.
'Which memory shall i sketch?' her mind whispered, staring into the invisible distant door. The morning light is still wet after singing in shower and touched by the rain of the cold mystic mist. Unwrapping gift slowly hugs her gentle eyes and they close with a quiet deep inhaling breath. And release with silent damp memories as the eyes open unintentionally to see a surreal picture of the past. Many moments of soundless laughter and unseen smiles fill the colourless pages of her unfinished sketchbooks in her mind. Flipping through these pages this morning is viewed by others as pulling off lilies or clearing a rose bush. She believes that lily bulbs never ruin and a rose bush will bloom again next season.
'Which shadow shall i sketch?' again her mind focus on the sketch she wants to remember. Slowly the shadow walks across the verandah which seems like praying, humming a strange ancient scroll. The moving shadow on her face mimics her thoughts and portray the reflections of a soul deeply acquainted with herself and herself a child whence she came.
'I wish i was there!' The only wish of her is to be in that moment. Her agony washed away by the shores of timeless waters. For her leaning against that wall is like being in a ride away from home that seems long, very long and almost forever. Gazing into a point in the distance and doing nothing but let the pages of her sketchbook flip through the wind. And sometimes she thinks of completing all the tasks that she was left behind with, and all of that in one strange early morning.
'Which memory shall i sketch?' her mind whispered, staring into the invisible distant door. The morning light is still wet after singing in shower and touched by the rain of the cold mystic mist. Unwrapping gift slowly hugs her gentle eyes and they close with a quiet deep inhaling breath. And release with silent damp memories as the eyes open unintentionally to see a surreal picture of the past. Many moments of soundless laughter and unseen smiles fill the colourless pages of her unfinished sketchbooks in her mind. Flipping through these pages this morning is viewed by others as pulling off lilies or clearing a rose bush. She believes that lily bulbs never ruin and a rose bush will bloom again next season.
'Which shadow shall i sketch?' again her mind focus on the sketch she wants to remember. Slowly the shadow walks across the verandah which seems like praying, humming a strange ancient scroll. The moving shadow on her face mimics her thoughts and portray the reflections of a soul deeply acquainted with herself and herself a child whence she came.
'I wish i was there!' The only wish of her is to be in that moment. Her agony washed away by the shores of timeless waters. For her leaning against that wall is like being in a ride away from home that seems long, very long and almost forever. Gazing into a point in the distance and doing nothing but let the pages of her sketchbook flip through the wind. And sometimes she thinks of completing all the tasks that she was left behind with, and all of that in one strange early morning.
