Sep 04, 2008
Ice.
Slowly it begins to drip.
Releasing hold on skin and bone.
On soul.
Eyes blink and water in the bright.
As they begin to adjust.
Soon they lust.
In the dawn of new potential.
Where is your muse?
It is in the house.
In the bus.
In the pub-goers.
It is eternal.
And it never left.
It was encased.
In ice.
As the chill takes hold.
It has been reborn.
Are you ready,
For what's to come?
I know its an abbey, but it calls to mind a castle for me. I love the shot.