As the sun begins to deep, casting long dramatic shadows across the square, the city square hummed with the usual afternoon rhythm- The chattering of people, the bell from the nearby church, the clatters of shoes on cobblestones, the noise from students returning from school, and horning of buses. There she stood, her skin the color of a fresh snow, her lips painted in a faint imperceptible rose, her eyes a deep melancholic blue. She stood still, holding a small umbrella mixed with dark and light blue. She was a storyteller, weaving narratives with her stillness, each day telling a different story.
Her style of artistry wasn't with a paintbrush but stillness, imitating characters. Today her character was Somber Duchess, a noblewoman lost in contemplation. She stood there dressed in a rich striped fabric, its voluminous sleeves harking back to the time of corsets and carriage rides. On her golden hat was a feather with mixed colors.
She was 60, being a stillness art of different characters was what she had always wanted. Finally, it was a joy to become a silent storyteller. Aside from the entertainment on the street, she hopes someday she'll present her unique skills of portraying still characters in a large auditorium.
