The Dancer

She dances to twist the clouds of aether, to tie the ribbons of creation, looping and swerling. She paints the moon with silver thread, flaring from her head, her skirt a crimson undulation will birth planets and stars in it’s unraveling.

She is the dancer dashing this way and that, kinking the ribbons in mid flow to achieve the new angles of life. But her tempo is slowing and she feels the weight of billions of years on the balls of her stilettoed feet. When she stops for a drink or to wend her weary way home – the motion and energy of life will drift after her in a slowly dying echo of the dance.

Posted: Thursday, August 8th, 2013 @ 11:28 am
Categories: Flash Fiction, Uncategorized.
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