I see her in the garden at night, flying back and forth—back and forth.
She's building something, using this big lattice I have propped up on the hedge.
She's weaving a strange, intricate structure with flowers—a little bit each night.
I don't have the nerve to call out to her; She doesn't seem to see me.
I look at her handiwork during the day. It almost seems to glow, to pulsate.
I am afraid to touch it but it is beautiful.
She has reached about three quarters of the way to the top.
It's not just a lattice with flowers, I can tell. It's—something else. I don't know what.
I haven't told anyone. What would they think? They would think that I was crazy. Maybe I am.
I have this strong feeling that when she finishes it, everything is going to change.
She's building something, using this big lattice I have propped up on the hedge.
She's weaving a strange, intricate structure with flowers—a little bit each night.
I don't have the nerve to call out to her; She doesn't seem to see me.
I look at her handiwork during the day. It almost seems to glow, to pulsate.
I am afraid to touch it but it is beautiful.
She has reached about three quarters of the way to the top.
It's not just a lattice with flowers, I can tell. It's—something else. I don't know what.
I haven't told anyone. What would they think? They would think that I was crazy. Maybe I am.
I have this strong feeling that when she finishes it, everything is going to change.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Magic Flower Krystsina Birukova
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