He made his way back through the dark forest of the mind; closely watching memories like stones, shine on the moonlit landscape just like those few silver hairs on that gypsy woman, known by the name of wild flowers, changing with each passing season.
It was she, who finds the lost men and feeds them warm breads of love and cool springs of many colours. These travellers find another home to sleep, rise early and make their sons ride horses and aim daggers embedded with rubies and opals. With a smile of youthful desires, an old woman searches into the soul of the purple sky while a soft garnet in her silver-framed chest, lay waiting for more years to come.
This isn’t to say that there are no old women, but that a woman doesn’t grow old as long as she loves and is loved.
-migrainemuse-
the quote is a line from Van Gogh’s Letters to Theo
she finds lost men and feeds them warm breads of love. Beautiful piece!
I've read it, and reread it, but I'm not sure I understand what it means. My imagination goes looking in too many corners x