03-28-2019, 03:44 PM
Carefully, reverently, the way she'd seen others- the tired and weary- do with their holy books, she touched each page, fingertips light. The image was appropriate. The lost and battered sheep desperately trying to find her way back home to the flock. A child, wandering the store, seeking her mother. Something pulsed and flickered inside or her. Warmth. The flutter of butterfly's wings.
Nothing changed. And yet a sense of peace was there. Not like the time not long ago. Her underneath the stone stairway of the monastery, the pebbles and sticks and the cool of the moist fall ground leeching into her palms and forearms, knees and forehead, trapped forever in a cage of her own making with only one final way out, and the Angel first appears, filling her with his love, giving her the courage to finally be free.
It wasn't that. It was quieter. Simpler. But in a way, just as peaceful. She got lost in the works of Degas and Manet, Monet and Cezanne, the light airily and jauntily dancing over the painting, relaxing her eyes and questing mind to let it lead her to experience their vision of a single moment in time. Always, they had been her favorite, far more than the Post-Impressionists. They seemed...purer. More innocent, maybe. It was the brightness of it all she was drawn to, the hovering haze of light and warmth bathing the subject and the viewer.
The time drifted by and she lost herself until a thump next to her drew her out of her meditation. She looked over, annoyed the girl- a kid- and the offending book. Books, rather. She rolled her eyes, resentful of the intrusion into her privacy.
And of course she wasn't going to stop with the interruption. Still....it seemed more innocent youthful indifference than maliciousness. Her comment only served to highlight that. Kids!, she thought with some exasperation. And then she laughed to herself. Liv the ancient one. She smiled in a friendly way. "Yeah. It is." Her eyes glanced over the pile of books from the girl- girls, rather- and raised an eyebrow. "Heavy reading. School project?"
Nothing changed. And yet a sense of peace was there. Not like the time not long ago. Her underneath the stone stairway of the monastery, the pebbles and sticks and the cool of the moist fall ground leeching into her palms and forearms, knees and forehead, trapped forever in a cage of her own making with only one final way out, and the Angel first appears, filling her with his love, giving her the courage to finally be free.
It wasn't that. It was quieter. Simpler. But in a way, just as peaceful. She got lost in the works of Degas and Manet, Monet and Cezanne, the light airily and jauntily dancing over the painting, relaxing her eyes and questing mind to let it lead her to experience their vision of a single moment in time. Always, they had been her favorite, far more than the Post-Impressionists. They seemed...purer. More innocent, maybe. It was the brightness of it all she was drawn to, the hovering haze of light and warmth bathing the subject and the viewer.
The time drifted by and she lost herself until a thump next to her drew her out of her meditation. She looked over, annoyed the girl- a kid- and the offending book. Books, rather. She rolled her eyes, resentful of the intrusion into her privacy.
And of course she wasn't going to stop with the interruption. Still....it seemed more innocent youthful indifference than maliciousness. Her comment only served to highlight that. Kids!, she thought with some exasperation. And then she laughed to herself. Liv the ancient one. She smiled in a friendly way. "Yeah. It is." Her eyes glanced over the pile of books from the girl- girls, rather- and raised an eyebrow. "Heavy reading. School project?"