a thousand frames a second

rising from a flutter to a hum. anticipation washed and wrung, moves to the spin cycle. i am backflipping through the garden. almost shaking as i hang out the washing.

piles of satin and chiffon. cacophany of colours. my sisters breath so close i can smell it on the winds that swirl round the ghost gums. i am holding back as much as i can manage. the bit is left behind.

a thousand frames a second. glass memories never age. these fragile things are fortified. i am swept up with the dust on the breeze.