8 June 2012
Inspired by the Pre-Raphelite painting Miranda: The Tempest
She stood at the sea, the ageless sea waiting, watching. for him of the deep, depths colder than death. unthinkable weight bearing down. "But will he appear?" She thought, as a whisper, a shiver of ice breath flew over her face.
Her cloak whipped around her, and danced with the wind, the colours so bright against the greys of the waves. There was wind as from stories of far-away times, the downpour like tears, collecting her tears. Clouds crowding above, bunching like fists, squeezing the skies.
At last in the distance a darkness arose, Sea boiling with pride, "a son from us comes" A huge shape appeared, like thunder or night, he rose from below, his hands clasped behind.
He strode through the salt-spray, ignoring the storm, eyes sweeping the shore til finding her there, ice eyes fixed on hers, a binding unspoken, two fixed points unchanging, unchallenged.
Seeing him come, her breathing unchained, so easy so free, now he was returned, a secret she held that she would reveal, something of his, she'd kept, and held, and grown. A small thing held safe in a quiet sea.
Unspeaking he reached her, stood still on the sands, took her hands, in his, she saw them entwined, such a strange blending, of darkness and light.
Returning • Opuss № I