literature

Girl on a Limb

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Literature Text

Grasping the lowest, gnarled limb of the looming tree, she hoists herself up. Her elfin feet, grimy and caked with dirt, curl their toes around the branch as the girl stands up to reach for the next limb. Cautiously, yet without fear, she begins her ascent. Luminous beams of sunlight peek through the leaves, lessening as she treks higher. A trek she has done numerous times. She knows this gargantuan plant like the back of her hand; memorizing every knot, each branch, without even attempting. Her tree. It is hers and no one else's. The girl climbs with ease, pulling herself up rhythmically with her petite, but muscular arms. Even her hands have become perfectly acquainted with this activity. The skin is rough such as the texture of sandpaper; her palms and stubby fingers are calloused and stained with dirt. The harmony she feels keeps her nonchalantly climbing, as if in a trance. Her mind can wander all it likes. Her tranquil state of mind is broken and a loud chirp sounds from above. Yellow as a ripe lemon, and sparkling eyes filled with mischief, a small bird cocks its head as it sits in her nest only a few feet above that girl. You are a Thief. The girl broods, as her eyes narrow. Scowling, she begins scrambling up the tree, wilder than before.  Being careless, her footing slips; the girl begins to fall. Quick as lightning, she saves herself by grabbing onto a lone branch, so scrawny it should more rightfully be called a twig. Big enough to just hold her weight, but not big enough by far for her to sit on. Her kicking feet dangle below her. The closest branch is diagonally below her, a physically impossible jump. She is stuck. As she hangs there helplessly, the bird flutters down around her. You are here to mock me, she suspects. But it goes right below her dusty feet, flying inside the tree. Inside the tree, she thinks. The wind soothingly gushes through her loose fitting blue dress. Taking a reassuring breath in through her nose, the girl moves one hand off the branch and down to a knot just above her belly button. Her nails dig into the bark, and she winces in pain. She places her feet tightly against the side of the tree, and lets go of the branch. She falls for only a second, and her feet are stopped by a large woodpecker hole on the side of the tree. From there she lowers herself on to a large branch to the right. She hears another chirp and looks up. The lemon coloured saviour glides down to the branch a couple feet away from where the human sits, a gold necklace in its grasp. Of course not real gold, but it was an item of sheer beauty, glistening as independent drops of sunlight caress it. The girl crawls out towards it, and a breeze flutters through her sandy blond hair. It is not yours. She muses, and then stops crawling. It is not yours, and this tree is not mine. Beauty should not belong to one person alone.  "We can share, if you'd like", she tells the little creature, who begins to sing a beautiful melodic tune, as if to agree with her. The girl leans back against the tree, and sits peacefully there until the silent twilight falls.
ART BELONGS TO BRIAN LEBOEUF

a short write i did,, the assignment was to look at one of Brian Leboeuf`s pieces of art, and write a page. so here you go.

You can see the painting, and Brians other work here: [link]
© 2011 - 2024 corazongirl
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