If there was ever greener grass and bluer sky muddled with dark rain clouds, I've never seen it. The rain clouds in some mystic persona seem to have been following us lately. Sometimes from a distance, sometimes creeping closer, but for the longest time they have maintained their ranks on the horizon. Brilliant billowing clouds of gray, always with the ominous threat of torrential power. They seem to dare us to be happy.
Her father has died, and though the guests have invaded her house with promised therapeutic support, all she wants is to be alone. The emerald backdrop of wind-caressed grass contrasts her mourning dress, and as she kneels on the earth, kneeling to the heavens, she makes no sound. She is allowing her heart to disappear, to run from the reality of the three bedroom plank board house that faces her back: a burden that has so abruptly become hers alone. She is hoping the rain clouds will come and drown the anguish and pain she has never asked for. But they stand distant, watching. It is not her luck to be taken now.
Her begging and pleading have not been answered, and she sits. I have followed her here - like the clouds, I too have always been following - and want desperately to hold her. But that is her decision to make. So I stand waiting, not so far behind, so that if she only looked over her shoulder, the facade of loneliness she has created for herself would disappear.
She does not look. She is distant, a numbness affecting her senses. Selfishness is a double-edged sword, thought of as callous and repulsive, but needed for the rehabilitation of the soul. It is time for Anna to be selfish. it is time for her heart to be mended and healed. But her vanity keeps her form turning her head to me. Her pride screams, "I don't need your help!" and her false bravado keeps up the appearance. As she sits on this hill, arms wrapped tight around her legs, her silence is more telling than words. She is lost.
And maybe this is where she wants to be.
CH _
New pieces of art by bo odom
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