The palace of mirrors.
The walk home, the rain falling, the shirt clings to the skin, these spring days, gray green, clouds rolling... push the birds higher. The thought of the sun high above shining still, those rays touch the mind and although they do not warm the skin, shine light on those hidden memories of fingers touching, the hair in the mouth, the smell of the skin. Standing alone in the cold rain.
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Yes, a walk down Vers-sighs.
Gray green is the perfect color: moving from the mist into the open, growing air.
I feel as if this really starts with the sensual memory of "fingers touching" so beautiful in relation to rain, which is a release from the sky. I picture a light spring rain, with part of the world still sunny, something surreal and subconscious about that weather. I would take out "these spring days" in this line. What sound do the birds make? I would find another way to say "those rays touch the mind....hidden memories." I like that last sentence. I feel there is a little more concrete here that I'd like to see. Is there a brick wall the walker-narrator sees in his journey? Is someone across the street walking a dog? I think a few details would contrast the subconscious journey.
Thanks.
Lucy