The frond of the deer (2011)

Prologue of Eva Veiga

The stag comes guiding the light from the East to the land’s end, over there where the sun melts into the sea for love. The light comes to outline the glorious gateway below which the secret fountains sound, and even to sketch the bridge in the round arch that echoes the song.The stag/light comes back to life at the pace that, renewed, arises from its own trace. The sound that blooms in the arboreal lyre of the heart comes from silence. Pink Lyric on which the dew lies down its dark clarity. Pink that makes up the breeze and goes with the wind. The doe was running and did not know about the ravines, high grass grows between its breasts of impatience; meteors, bits of sky covered its thighs and even its soul, that was turning green; naked water in its eyes, its look full of lilies, the doe was running and did not know about the ravines. The stag is thirsty and drinks lovesickness. Wound that won’t heal. In its mouth, a golden piece of grass. In the frond of the deer, the druids stave off melancholy with the magic of flowers. Everything dances in mysterious harmony. The Maroot lies dead and wrapped up in the stag’s skin. A temperate air. A rope that holds one’s breath. An electric vibration. The shining of metals. The root that beats on time. What can you call what sustains this music, what brings with it and takes from us something unapproachable but that fondles us and it is never played the same way again? Could it be the glittering Absence? Could it be the Sea? High sea of the taken sea.

Eva Veiga

The frond of the deer (2011)

The frond of the deer (2011)