Photo by Brett Walker
The majority of her life passed in a dreamlike trance. Everyone around her noticed her lack of solidity, something intangible about her like a silver stream running through your fingers. Evasive as a cloud, always changing forms. She alternated between floating from one situation to the next, gingerly touching the surface every once in a while or laboriously dredging the black bottom of the murky pond of life. Ruled by the moon and the tides, her moods fluctuated madly, rising to impressive heights and then crashing back down into the lowest, darkest holes of existence. As a result of this perpetual lack of consistency, no one really took her very seriously.
She could not resist analyzing every situation that concerned herself in any way and even most other situations that had nothing to do with her. Luckily, she was blessed with a strong streak of pragmatism, well-disguised under her heavy robe of incongruity. The lapse of time necessary for her to finally take action, to put her pragmatic nature to use, varied immensely.
Sometimes years, decades silently slipped away. The voices, urging her to move forward, yelling at the tops of their frail lungs, could be heard by her alone. She was a bit like a duck, gliding effortlessly on the surface, paddling like hell only inches under the water.
Yet sometimes, in the blink of an eye, she took the most direct path towards what she wanted, hungry crab on a sandy beach, protected by her hard shell, all her softness and vulnerability cleverly dissimulated on the inside.