Small but numerous fires rage within each panel of the stain-glass window wings. Hot sand seems to blow off the edges. He is like the firebird from Slavic folklore, both a beacon of light and harbinger of doom. This bee so large, I would stroke his soft fur as I would a kitten's, were I not afraid of being burnt.
Sand, and fur, and fire. A heat so hot, we could all burn up. And what of us would then remain?
No comments:
Post a Comment