She bows where trampled grass lies still,
A crown of feathers cuts the air;
Her gaze is drawn to depths below
Where silence learns the shape of prayer.
The crowd recedes to shadowed blur,
Their modern breath held soft and thin;
In her slow hands, the world grows old,
And ancient rhythms enter in.
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ReplyDeleteNice
ReplyDeleteGreat shot. She looks like she is resting for a bit :-D
ReplyDeleteI like the portrait of the woman. People were watching her in a respectful way.
ReplyDeleteShe is beautiful and you captures a poignant moment.
ReplyDeleteEm fascinen aquestes corones de plomes.
ReplyDeleteSalutacions
It's clear you enjoyed the parade, judging by the large number of great photos you took!
ReplyDeleteEstá claro que el espectáculo interesa a los transeúntes que se apiñan alrededor de él.
ReplyDeleteUn abrazo