(no subject)
He stands on the cliff where the stream of fierce, pure water pours from the stone, and plummets into the pool, far below. At this height, the river seems a tiny thread of silver snaking its way through the earth, but he knows the true depth of it cannot be seen from this earthly vantage -- not until one is dead, or amoung them, can the volume really be apprecciated.
He throws blood red poppies into the falling stream -- twelve of them -- and a note as well. "On this night, Tuesday, 3rd of June, the Wien Staatsopera will perform Karl Orr's Carmina Burana...yadda yadda yadda... Performance will begin at 8:00 pm, seating will cease immediately thereafter."
He watches the blossoms disappear below, sucked down into the swirling stream. The note floats a bit longer, but soon it too is consumed. Then, with a smile, he turns to go.
He throws blood red poppies into the falling stream -- twelve of them -- and a note as well. "On this night, Tuesday, 3rd of June, the Wien Staatsopera will perform Karl Orr's Carmina Burana...yadda yadda yadda... Performance will begin at 8:00 pm, seating will cease immediately thereafter."
He watches the blossoms disappear below, sucked down into the swirling stream. The note floats a bit longer, but soon it too is consumed. Then, with a smile, he turns to go.