JJFBbennett

  Woman with Flowers in Her Hair Dusk Vignette The twilight hour weaves its tender shroud across the decaying streets as the last remnants of day’s warmth surrender to the cool breath of evening. She stands in the dim glow of lanterns flickering like dying embers, a melancholic and wild vision. Her hair, crowned with roses and entwined vines, blooms defiantly against the weary, withering city that crumbles around her. Beneath the flowers rests a serene yet haunted face, as if sorrow’s soft whispers have painted shadows beneath her eyes. The world stirs in echoes of forgotten grandeur, and she, like some mythic sentinel of the earth, is at once the bearer of life’s vibrant colour and the solemn mourner of its inevitable decay, a living embodiment of the cycle of life and death. Here, amidst the ruins, she is both the flower and the tombstone, standing silent as the day’s final breath collapses into night. Yet, there is something eternal in her stillness, as if in her fragile bloom l...

It is the same place and same time Being in a different time and associated with the same construct So much place is taken up by the same being Is the need to move forward a priority over being in place and time? No matter how far we have traveled the same social construct has remained steadfast in place.