The girl danced in front of me as if she was a plastic bag floating in the wind; her movements were not her own; the wind dictated every move.
The wind blew threw her hair as we photographed a building, we did not plan on doing a shoot. I pointed the camera, rather foolishly as always, at her and started taking photographs whilst she danced in the wind.
Some memories are burnt in your memory forever. One such memory for me is the memorable scene from the movie American Beauty in which one character takes a rather strange video of a plastic bag dancing to the dictates of the wind. This moment was on par with the movie scene as the girl I could never write danced to the dictates of the wind.
Another week and another ode to the girl I could never write. This might become the longest-running series I do. It might be beneficial to backlink the previous ones. So the rest of the series which I will update every week will be linked from now on if you ever want to see the others. At the bottom of the page, you will find the accompanying short story or freewrite. But without further ado, please enjoy the dancing girl and some other experimental photographs.
An Ode to the Girl Who I Could Never Write
Dancing Girl - A Short Story
Frozen in time, she stood in the moonlight whilst the stars rained down on her. The cold winter night touched my skin with feathers. I could see my breath but we both stood there in the freezing night air. A tense moment, frozen. Forever I might want to bask in this magic moment, but with every heartbeat, I could see the ticking of the clock. Time was running out.
Almost instantly, the moment was broken. Nothing happened, yet, everything was set in motion.
A cold breeze swept through her hair and she began dancing. Her dress danced according to the dictates of the wind, her hair and limbs soon followed.
A show for one, private, intimate.
With every move, with every wind stroke, I could see her pale skin. My tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, I swallowed with great difficulty. Yearning to touch her skin, to taste the lust of both our beings.
But I knew I could not. A forbidden taste, a forbidden love.
The wind suddenly stopped. I looked at her dress and hair and limbs that all fell down. She stood inches away from me. I could feel the warmth of her skin, even though it was freezing outside. I wanted to touch her, to lift a finger, and to only feel the racing heart below her skin.
And then I did it. I could no longer resist the temptation, I could no longer take the teasing.
As if in slowed-down time, my finger broke through the wall of my inhibitions. I touched her pale skin.
The wind picked up. She did not dance anymore. She broke into a million little pieces as the wind swept her away. I grabbed at her as quickly as I could but to no avail. Dust and powder, she floated away into the night sky. I was left standing with dirty hands. She was gone.
I touched my face with my hands, her last essence still stuck to my skin. I could feel her again, her touch on my face. I could see her last moment flash in front of me, over and over again.
She danced no more.
Postscriptum, or A Dandelion Seed Floating Away
Remember when you were a kid and you blew the dandelion seed into the air, the story was inspired by that moment. It was a quick freewrite which I hope you enjoyed. I also hope that you enjoy this series of rather unconventional photographs of the girl in my writing, the girl who I could never write.
The photographs were taken with my Nikon D300 and 18-70mm Nikon lens. I forgot about this lens and I am stunned at the quality! The story or freewrite is also my own. I hope you enjoy the new year! Blessings to you and your family. Happy photographing, stay well.