In blank fields, as barren as sheets of paper and holding as much potential, stands a tree.

It has stood for all time, and no time at all. It was built; planted.

And frozen.

Encased in its branches is the idea of a child, who is also a child with an idea. In his hands is a book. A book as blank as the fields the tree sits in. A idea of a child who – being of no time and all time – knew that he would wait half a life time for a little girl to grow up and meet him in a waking world. Knew he would be frozen for all of those years to pass in less time than the blink of an eye.

But this changes. Now.

Now the searing heat of awakening burns the ice from the tree. The book – once blank – bleeds inky ideas into the ground around it.

The pressure released will heard as a ┬ároaring thunder; the physical shock of having a damn of ideas break will destroy balance. Reason will be disconnected as lunatic songs burn new neural pathways – new ways of seeing. New ways of thinking.

And with the Moment of Disconnection comes the Moment of Distraction.

Bursting through the floor of the cafe, overturning tables and clients, the world rises to catch the body as it falls. To hold it for the split second of destruction and then – drops out.

But as the land drops, something is left behind.

The first idea from the burning mind.

A woman.

A woman with pink hair.

Naked, shivering, on the floor of The Sidetrack Cafe.


Todays photo was supplied by Martine Pedersen.

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