Summer’s hands swept the curtains back,
Gently tugging on the green velveteen folds.
Bits of moss fell out the the deep pleats as
they were disturbed for the first time in
months. The darkness came first,
comparatively flickering in the deep weave of time.
The moon flashed; Summer’s ring being covered,
uncovered, covered, uncovered by the fabric.
The edges of the great velveteen crept up—
slowly, oh so slowly at first.
Apples ripened and fell.
Then with a shuddering swoosh, the curtain raised.
Revealed
was the bare rawness of the next act. The life
seemed ****** away; dormant; hiding from the perpetual, damp,
grey, and red, and brown, and blackness of the
something-ness behind the green curtain.
Then, the swirling dancers descended, filling the
stage: dazzling against the odds.