the sound my breath makes when imitating the wind

There I was, amongst all the beautiful and rich People of the City at an invite-only art exhibition.

No one would have guessed that I was only Pretending to be one of Them in my lovely summerorange dress.
But I knew.

[I like secrets like that.]

Abstract modernism isn’t always the genre of art I like most, but I’d found a painting to pause in front. More so that I could drink from the bottle of mineral water that I’d been handed by a smartly dressed waiter, than from undying appreciation for the work. It was a little bottle, only containing a handful of precious sips, so I drank it slowly. Until, I suddenly found an urge to blow gently, gently across the top of the glass bottle. And as I blew, a note whistled out of the bottle and disappeared into the groups of people gathered in front of artworks. As I blew again, a whisper of playfulness soared into unsuspecting earlobes like rumours of summer days. And I blew once more, not for them, but for me. At this last sounding, a tiny grin stretched itself out, over my mouth like a hammock hung between trees.

Then, feeling that enough magic had been sprinkled into the air, I finished off my water.

[I like moments like that.]


~ by translating for peas on December 5, 2009.

One Response to “the sound my breath makes when imitating the wind”

  1. 🙂 🙂 🙂

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