Lost with the beast…

Amid a tangle of vines and spider webs, I sat. Peering from behind a young tree, I could make out its faint form. The flesh was smooth, much like the bark of the tree that sheltered me from the late-evening sun. Ivory rays beamed down from the heavens, illuminating the massive shell. The feet, broad and rugged, fell heavy upon the dirt like those of a great mastodon crossing a vast plain.

I crept closer, slinking my back against the rock wall. The earth was dry and crisp. A sharp pang of pain shot through my hand. Raising it to my eyes, I could see a splinter of wood embedded within my dirty palm. I’d have to remove it later.

The beast, unaware of my creeping, admired the lush grass that fanned out around its body. Like waves in the sea, each blade bowed. A dance—a waltz—brimming with life. The beast appeared to know the sea swayed for its pleasure.

I valued the sea of grass. I appreciated its hypnotic ballet. I respected the power it held over the beast. The power to hold its gaze. The power to let me lay claim.

Holding my camera, I felt the breeze gently push a few strands of my hair. My hair swayed, much like the sea of grass, and as I pressed down the shutter release button, I could almost swear that I too was a part of the sea.

Now, the beast still grazes upon the waves of that sea. I, now drowning, remember the beast.

Thanks to Christina for visiting Into the Inkpot! Anyone that is interested can find her blog here.