I, Geraldine Persnickety ask myself how I will
make this string of green stones belong in the wardrobe of my fashion
shoot. I look a the mottled faceted peas strung together escaped from
their pods in exasperation. No clasp.
I green myself into a silk
shift and tie the tassled low waist ribbon so it falls to the gossamer
hanky hem and stare into the mirror. Is this not a perfect portrait of
England's green and pleasant land. Inspiration strikes, I can wear the
stones as a choker. I wrap them about my pale knock leaving the ends to
hang low at the front and check the impression in the mirror again. Am I
not beautiful? I will dazzle in the clam shell lights of the catwalk.
They green and smoke a little from their pits of anonymity but they
glimmer none the less.
Jaque enters the room again to check the
final running order, the turnout of the models, as if we were horses in
his stable. He is looking flustered, unsure of whether he is coming or
going. He has been worse since his cigarette break and I wonder what he
saw as he trod the path through the woods. He has greened about the
gills and I am not sure if the slick of sweat is nerves over the arrival
of the audience or opiate.
They are all out there, the Great and
the Good, arriving in their chauffeured Rollers and Bentleys, stepping
out of the darkened inrpteriors into the partially lit auditorium, rolls
of money held tightly banded in pods at their pockets ready to honour
I prepare to step out onto the stage, visualising my
shield of white light to protect me from the stripping gaze of those in
the audience who would wish to see me laid bare on the central plinth,
repeating my mantra with every facet-glint from my green choker 'I am
beautiful'. But then I see her,there in the audience, the woman who
would make the devil panic. Could I get a message backstage with a
flutter of my fan and spread the word like the disciples, like a carrier
She is here.
the moss to life as it escapes the darkness of the cave where it is born
of the earths depths unseen. It bubbles forth from the rock where only
one side is rough, the other worn away to polish by centuries of liquid
caress, no need to change the conditioner.
It rolls and boils
smoothing its way over singing stones and gurgling gaps in the river
bank winding its way to the mystical forest. Droplets of water clinging
to moss, lichen, ferns, like a necklace of precious stones that a
mermaid would wear to enhance her natural beauty. How many hues of green
can there be? It seems infinite in all the shade ing of the seasons.
And as the water weaves in around and through her journey does she
remember her roots in the darkness of the earthen cave?
are the caves" she sings," I have left them for the light. I have no
need of darkness. I have life and a journey ahead of me. I shall be
lifted to the heavens in the glow of the sun's rays. Can't you see I
have come from antiquity and will go on to eternity. Come with me, I
will carry you"
The copyright of these posts belongs to Holly Khan