Rainbow legging-clad stems, long as an early August afternoon, carry her lithely dancing through the gravity glut of Tanasbourne.

Unencumbered by short skirt, no more than a thin veil fluttering around narrow hips and briefly clinging to smoothly pale thighs, my rainbow vision is the only sign of life in this greyed out crowd.

So I click my heels, not to return home, but to fly over the essential colors of light streaming as a beacon to the pot of gold at their end. 


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