Seeing Benita in this shaded bower, ivy leaves trailing down walls and trellises, recalled for me the feel of life alone in Rivendell, Elven stronghold, mystical homeland, far from the maddening courses of earth. A mythical place, some say.
Rivendell, replete with poignant beauty, the haunting tristesse of The Otherworld, the silent hum of enchanted fauna, not seen but felt at the edge of consciousness, tiny dewdrops chiming as they strike a shaken leaf.
I was there.
A shaded love-seat, just the place for Elven royalty to sit and ponder, dressed in flowing gowns and pearls from hidden coves. Their mind ever on higher thoughts, they lounge and dream.
No drop of liquid, nor crumb of bread passes their lip, for like the vampyr, they have no earthly life to sustain, nor breath to breathe.
The ghostly pallor of their skin, their flaxen locks protected from the harsh elements. The unearthly radiance of their eyes too translucent for ordinary folk to see.
And yet sometimes, just sometimes, the wisp of emotion crosses their placid countenance, like a cumulus trail across the sky.
Then sunshine renders their hair as gold and dazzles your eye.
Alone in Rivendell, yet not alone, these Elven folk.
The minutest lifeforms of a secret world exist to sing their praises, the perfume of a thousand unknown blooms infuses the land with their name.
Na lû e-govaned vîn..
* Until next we meet – Pronunciation: na LUUU e.GO.va.ned VIIIN
Dress: Valerie Bertinelli