Vevina slept in the void, like a child in lilac blue, lying in the shadows of a flower shaped bed. Nothing escapes the unfurling pastures laid bare and spread out in the willing exposure of vague sensations. Parallel to the wrinkled temperament of ancient musings in nervous posture. Like a thorn of a white rose. Brutal, cruel and vulnerable when light falls to earth. Pouring down in sequence and when it rained Vevina soaks herself in the lashings of its slopes, sliding upon the flesh of its form and bathing in new silence. Like the silence of a butterfly and many butterflies would form around her bed, detached in unconscious movement, eyes locked in great purpose.

The higher they flew the more Vevina would recognise each imprint. Each one unique and in unison to one another.

Sighs spread wide into the mouth of the chestnut moon, bright and forgiving in the midst of red meadows. Cows in idle...