by Andreas Economakis
An olive tree sways softly in the wind, its leaves changing from silver to pale green. The motion is slow, encapsulated, dreamlike. Above the tree, two swallows scissor through the warm September air, dipping and diving against the pale Mediterranean sky, swooping in and curving back up again. A love dance with shades of blue and black and traces of silver. The birds change colors in the light, like the olive tree in the wind. The radio plays an old Italian song, circa 1920. The tree bends in the breeze, down and back up again, dancing with the music, bowing to the swallows. Smiling. One of the swallows catches an upward draft and disappears into the sun. He reappears, diving. The music pauses, crackling. The tree’s leaves bend upward, countless silver-green fingers trembling in anticipation. The swallow swoops and skirts the olive tree, a flash kiss of intertwined colors and wind and energy, an avian thank you delivered with lightning speed and delicate grace. The tree bends backwards, as if trying to catch its breath. The swallow turns and swoops again before joining its mate and disappearing over the salty blue sea. Time stands still. Two separate entities joined by the music and the wind and the light. Together so briefly and yet for eternity.
This piece is part of a collection of stories on blindness entitled: The Blindness of Life.
Copyright © 2010, Andreas Economakis. All rights reserved.
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