Friday Figments: THIN THREAD

A white thread hangs from the sky. People on the street walk past it, hats on their heads, hands in their pockets, eyes on each foot fall. One tug and clouds might spill down like a waterfall of iridescent bubbles, floating as they fall to pop on the ground. One pull and colorful prisms could illuminate the sky the way a light switch enlivens a ceiling of chandeliers. One pinch of that silent thread and a flock of captive doves might be set free, their wings beating a breeze as fragrant as pink petunias. The thread may not even know what it's for. 
      Someday someone will notice it, after the strand lingers on someone's cheek just long enough to wake them from their stroll on the street. And that someone will look up to know how he, or she, came to be touched. It may be raining, or the sun relentlessly heating, but a hand will lift, find the thread among its fingers, grab hold and discover. 

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Photo: "Pierre-Auguste Renoir - Les Grands Boulevards" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir - Les paysages de Renoir, 1865-1883, catalogue de l'exposition. The National gallery, Londres, 21 février-20 mai 2007, Musée des beaux-arts du Canada, Ottawa, 8 juin-9 septembre 2007, Philadelphia museum of art, Philadelphie, 4 octobre 2007-6 janvier 2008, Milan : 5 Continents Editions srl, 2007, p. 163. ISBN 9788874393732. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons -


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