I will wear a dress of mountains. With fluffy, tender blue peaks, I will adorn my head—wrapping it like a silk scarf. My eyes will be painted with the lilac hue of sunset clouds. The fabric of the dress will shimmer with the scarlet and blue of evening reflections, and I’ll sprinkle gold sparkles on the hem. And velvet, dark green shoes from the forest at the foot of the mountains. What if I take the crystal-clear river flowing around these mountains and make heels from it, and fasten them with buckles made from the snowcaps of the highest peaks… Mmm…
I’ll dash down to the valley. Sprinkle golden sand on my hair—so it sparkles like stars. Choose the largest lake and set it in a ring of silver moonlight. Fill a semi-transparent veil with warm air—and pull on gloves.
Sit in a silver convertible and drive to the ocean—just two hours from home. And catch the sunset. And dissolve in these colors. Forget myself in them. Leave myself in them forever. So that I return home—filled with them, the majestic and serene mountains, the unique toy of divine imagination—the sunset, the thrillingly volatile ocean, the pilgrims—birds, precious seashells, vanilla candles, the sultry wind of the departing day, a glass of wine in which the sun has drowned.
Before the night, which again makes you want to dream… After all, Assol once waited long enough to meet her for Gray.
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