there is a reason why she is called the plant goddess. i will let the storyteller tell his story. over to you last minutes light :)
plant goddess
there is a reason why she is called the plant goddess. i will let the storyteller tell his story. over to you last minutes light :)
Friday, February 5, 2010
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there are layers and layers of green behind her, going from light where the sun probably hits, to lushy dark green deep, deep underground where it's never there. such texture. the word lush is clouding my head now. distracted by the perfect spirals of the leaves, tempted so fractally by the greenery. she's a plant goddess. looks like she grew up her, and she's just falling through. the parts of her skin where it's slightly dusky, the uneven velvety green, the places it covers her, all the buness traits. exquisite goddess. i wish i could float with her.
it's remembered out of broken fragments, and it might not be right - and this is the second attempt, by the way. a plant daughter is in a train journey and searching for her human sister. she recalls how she came into being; two people fall in love with each other and decide to marry, and might be because of things they have done in dreams, they never get to have children. they adopt kids, and the kids grow up and run away, and their world becomes lonelier, and their house larger and emptier. in the end, they have a mysterious boon from a beautiful, irregularly clothed, velvety green plant goddess falling through at least three layers of lush, and the father decides to love the garden more than the love they would ever give to a child, and a seed gets born, from which a daughter comes. you would know better. i have seen her sitting in the train. you should put that too. and... plant goddesses are plant goddesses. the storyteller's ye.
I give a LOT of constructive crits.
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