A garden late spring, honeysuckle and lazy birds heavy with the round scent of tuberoses and jungle gardenia There is a man in boots that make his calves look lethal with a whip, no spurs medieval sorrow in his eyes or around the mouth, maybe. "He is dangerous: in this place he has the fertility of steel." There is a woman in a vine-green habit her veins purple, her blue eyes. She is blonde though sometimes brunette: "My horse is lamed I was riding, I . . ." And--still in the heavy air they push each other down like dogs with fleas under the bushes, in them The camera pans to the nearest tree the cat approaches like a panther. She is also in boots like an empress who loves horses. The man puts on spurs: there is combat his knightly despair her deathly power. The witch burns, finally-- the lamed horse returns.
Back to the CSUN home page.
Warren Wedin email@example.com