She was a lonely warrior running firmly through the strawberry fields. Her skin was covered with light cotton and soft silk, being easily cherished by a cold breeze. It felt like a flight and as she walked the wind could compose her outline.
The moon was enlightening her way and it seamed clear then ever. She surely knew where she came from and where to go. A smile of joy was hidden under her sly yellow eyes. Foxes, wolfs, owls, bats, snakes... as a night prowler she could talk to all of them and figure out the shortest way.
All of a sudden all the rage was gone. As if it has never existed, as if it was just an endless nightmare at the longest night of winter in the Polar Cicle. The swords, nails and sharpen words could not reach her anymore, she learned how to defend, to attack, and the most important, how to disappear before the bombardment.
No more blood, just nanquim, to keep the lessons written, to never forget the painful mistakes of the art of enchantment.
(Photo by Dennis del Favero, in Pentimento, Interactive Video Installation, 2002)
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