Myriads of yellow-green seeds nestled against a ruby colored backdrop; I think a strawberry is beautiful.
The inner hollow is practically glowing with minute globes, reminding me of pearls or clear glass beads. Clusters of globes form walls and hollows within hollows, like ice caves and formations you see in glaciers.
I've seen pictures in National Geographic magazine where part of a glacier has been eaten away by the sea, allowing a boat to enter its hidden inner world. I'd like to be the photographer in that boat, bending her neck upward, her eyes the first to see that other-worldly cathedral.
Every shade of blue and white ornaments the walls with swirling arabesques, bas relief as fine as lace. Arcs carved, domes scooped effortlessly, the lines of crystal pillars and beams fall away cleanly.
The photographer, a would-be princess in a palace of ice, is suddenly aware of her plainness, her grubbiness. Warm, pink skin does not belong in this frozen sterility. The glacier is too beautiful to permit human life.
Her camera attempts to capture the color known as glacial blue and the sanctuary where only whales worship and seals sing praises. She leaves sadly, her heart forever changed. Wherever she goes, regardless of what beauty surrounds her, she will long for the cathedral she cannot inhabit.
But the strawberry--I'm getting away from myself--I think it's beautiful, that's all.
The inner hollow is practically glowing with minute globes, reminding me of pearls or clear glass beads. Clusters of globes form walls and hollows within hollows, like ice caves and formations you see in glaciers.
I've seen pictures in National Geographic magazine where part of a glacier has been eaten away by the sea, allowing a boat to enter its hidden inner world. I'd like to be the photographer in that boat, bending her neck upward, her eyes the first to see that other-worldly cathedral.
Every shade of blue and white ornaments the walls with swirling arabesques, bas relief as fine as lace. Arcs carved, domes scooped effortlessly, the lines of crystal pillars and beams fall away cleanly.
The photographer, a would-be princess in a palace of ice, is suddenly aware of her plainness, her grubbiness. Warm, pink skin does not belong in this frozen sterility. The glacier is too beautiful to permit human life.
Her camera attempts to capture the color known as glacial blue and the sanctuary where only whales worship and seals sing praises. She leaves sadly, her heart forever changed. Wherever she goes, regardless of what beauty surrounds her, she will long for the cathedral she cannot inhabit.
But the strawberry--I'm getting away from myself--I think it's beautiful, that's all.
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