Wednesday, 27 August 2014

Wrinkled Irish

I was dreaming I was riding a horse, something I actually do when I'm awake. I was happily hacking around city streets and stopping at traffic lights. I rode over a bridge over a river and out into the countryside. 

This seemed to go on for what seemed like hours. I was very happy and relaxed and in a happy place. I came across an Irish woman, her accent was very strong and as I struggled to hear what she was saying my attention was drawn to her forehead. 

It was extreamly wrinkled but appeared to have an independence of its own and moved as if it was a seperate part of her body. Such was my fascination with her head, that I totally missed what she was saying to me. 

09 10