After losing their candles to spirit, three branches separate from the candelabra and huddle in the still of a recluse’s night. Each branch points listlessly towards the next… tiny embellishments in the shadow light. Along the trail, intersecting limbs and knotting joints inflame the glass. Rises in Dora’s voice hit harder against the glass and cause the bloated pot to boil over into a salon-style shadow box, filled with melodic contrasts and colors, items specifically found along trails carved a few miles past the carriage houses of Debussy and Satie. The candles go romancing in background mattes of rural Pennsylvania and red Mars.
• Delphine Dora: https://delphinedora.wordpress.com
• Wild Silence: https://wildsilencedotcom.wordpress.com
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