Photography By Natasha Kertes
Autumn is luminous in Paris, the gardens and Louvre. Clouds knot up into dark muscles, like in sculptures, revealing in flashes the sky’s invisible arteries, milky grays and wash of muted jade and coral blush in softest couture.
Clouds scatter birthmarks on the earth, while empty trees stand frank, stone sculptures everywhere, proud likenesses of demi-gods—proud of centuries, histories, pains and loves, proud even after thunder swallows itself and a strike has left the sky split and broken sculpture pieces off by humans, morals, religions….
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