Unlike a weeping willow, this chandelier is not partial to the waterfront, it droops in all directions. But its spine is upright and arrogant in its pull of gravity.
It sweeps over my knees, this flashing mass of plastic.
Fourth, on a seat meant for three broad hips,I cannot escape the seduction of pink and green. Us ladies of the last seat, huddle around, basking in its light.
There are shiny hair clips to be plucked from this tree of plenty. Chandelier earrings of ruby red, purple rings flecked with gold, a crimson carnation strung onto a black band.
She sowed this tree upside down, on the handle lurching above me. And walked away, sure of those greedy hands that will reach out to partake from the mystic flash of sunlight bouncing off the chandelier.
She handed me my change and went and sprouted the willowy, wily, chandelier onto another handle, elsewhere.
I got off at the last station, before the stomping crowds filled up every footprint worth of space. This ride will have no place for floating willows.
The loot: All hair clips. Blue shiny stones. Funny girly faces on stripes.Pink haired swirls on stern black pins.
Last time the loot was : ten little nails painted silver. the child proposed the idea, and she, with the tray full of colours, happily obliged.