The horizon extends in the distance. Raising her eyes higher, she could see the peaks of the panoramas wheeling around us, cylinders in a spray of astral light. Yellow, the sun. Deep as a layer of gold. Yellow the wind. It sweeps her leather skirt, caresses the sleeves of her jacket, revealing skin here while covering it there. She is rekindled, preserved. She knows one thing: from here on out nothing will ever prevent her from soaring.

 

And the world shone anew. Suddenly everything lightened. Her beauty fixed around a stitch, a stud, curvaceous and sharp. She reflected the colours of the dawn: ochre, heat. White tasted like sugar. Tonight her clothes – a trenchcoat, shorts, or high-waisted drawstring trousers – will defy the universal force of attraction. Upon her person shapes will dance. Another disc, another circle, organic and fascinating, charcoal prints on silk twill, on poplin. Leather and skin are almost weightless. Pearls dance, and console. They whisper: It’s summertime. The sky is yours