elven.de

Craves to touch

elven — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 12:16:20 +0000

put a world in your world

elven — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 14:07:42 +0000

without words

elven — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 14:44:30 +0000

Wee burdie

elven — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 14:51:36 +0000

White-headed eagle from a nearby falconry.

Flower fashion

elven — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 11:29:08 +0000

Cosmea

elven — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 14:46:46 +0000

Some things stay, some go away.

Curiosity

elven — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 16:20:37 +0000

So precious

elven — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 19:01:35 +0000

And as life went on, one stood still. A flash. Then black and gray, some red.

Another saved. Whirling, rotating, shielding. Took seven more, and made them pay.

Fire and brimstone, they cried. Just so.

Another protected, so much more than what is.

So much more.

Another stayed.

Watching.

Observing.

Recording.

Never missing one. Not a single anything.

Another tried. Counted every-of-ones’ breaths. Every whisp. Every flutter. Every particle.

And tried. And tried.

Tried oh so hard.

And then .. one smiled, just a little.

Another didn’t miss.

And everything was perfect.

Sun goes up, sun goes down

elven — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 13:45:42 +0000

One another sitting in a tree ..

Blur

elven — Sun, 18 Apr 2010 17:17:04 +0000

Pass .. something. A construct, floating. No strings holding it up. Eerie silence as it shoots past.

But one can imagine the Whooomp-noise just fine. Hitting it would’ve sounded differently. Would they have been scared? It was rather close. Fast and close.

Thoughts drift. The numbers were received well. Not that I had any doubts. None. Yup., a small voice just whispers, treacherously. One smiles, in remembrance. Smiles very much. Loves very much. Does another feel? Feel the same?

Pass them again. Nuffin’ noone noticin’ anyhoo. Hidden. They talk about things one knows nothing about, sound crackling and imperfect. And yet knows so much.

One rests her temple against the smooth glass, watching the blur that is blue and white, and green and brown, pass by. Watching frills of black hair tickle it. Remembers tickling something else. And smiles again.

One relaxes in her seat, comfortable as it is. Far down another was. Messing things up, one assumes.

Pass them again.

One gets to pick another up. And then tinker some more. So much to do.

One leaves those in their cans of tin and wire-y stuff, heading down. Blue and white, feathered wings of light, spreading left and right. One added them, thought them cute. Another then made them work, thought them useful. (And, just in the privacy of the world within, very fullfilling, because it sprang from the mind of one.)

One smiles, heading down, dropping down, exhiliarated. Dunk on colour and speed. (And missing all the birds along the way.)