"Stars appeared all around the arena. Adam saw them. He saw them become trees. He saw multicolored branches stretching upward like supplicating hands beckoning him into the penumbra of movement. Undulating streaks of color almost flamelike. Star-trees. Not moving. Buffeted. Waving. Anchored. Summoning. Moving yet not moving.
Adam watched. He continued to skate. No one else saw them. They were his. Sent to him. As real as breath. As real as the skaters moving to the music. They were a gift. A message. A solace. A hello."
'via Blog this'
Pain is more often or not the origin of vision.
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Adam watched. He continued to skate. No one else saw them. They were his. Sent to him. As real as breath. As real as the skaters moving to the music. They were a gift. A message. A solace. A hello."
'via Blog this'
Pain is more often or not the origin of vision.
