The fan was intricate: a masterpiece, really. If anyone had stopped to glance at it, they would no doubt have wondered why anyone would be carrying such a valuable prop at a college costume party, but nobody noticed. The big brown eyes peering over it, too, were passed by without remark. Framed by a pale blue mask, those eyes were worth noticing, and they noticed a great many things themselves, despite their apparent inconspicuousness.The girl with the fan, dressed in a fetching dark blue gown reminiscent of the Civil War era, gracefully dodged a tipsy clown and two giggling ballerinas on her way to the stairs. Ascending halfway up the sweeping marble staircase, she stopped and turned to survey the dance floor from her improved vantage point. She sighed, fanning herself. There wasn’t a sombrero to be seen anywhere. Her contact had yet to arrive. She made her way back down the stairs and blended in against the wall once more, her fan a dainty shield against any inquisitive glances.(By Miss R.)
A beautiful rendering full of imagery. Nicely done, Miss R.
BASHO'S BEAUTYThe seasons rushed through their paces, a rapid advance for one last chance at brilliance. No haiku could paint what the Master had rendered. All the artist could do is present the vision in the brilliance of water color and pressed fiber.As the sun rose and set he painted. And as morning sweeps into evening like a fan unfolding, the beauty it was beholding touched the heart of his beloved. Simple strokes; short and expressive. Autumn flaming; winter frosting. His medium was his words. Autumn brilliance burnscomfort's warmth in transitionease winter's weeping.