The Angel Olivia
The father is watching , peeking through the narrow door slat in the old Citadel Building of Benton Harbor . The walls seem like paper , the light thin , the patina dusty … yet with golden sheens they pirouette after the last poem of winter passes . Olivia dances , the Dance of Spring , the others watching as she creates her own gravity .
For you dear one , Olivia … and your daddy xxx
Music by my fellow blogging friend ,Ewian Christensen , a talented young artist muscician