Freefall - Etruscan Water Francesca Bianchi 2019

The pale red evening sky is reflected in the water. The sun hangs like a white ball of embers over the black, contourless mountains. No carefree pink, no youthful blue at their edges. Everything blends together. Orange, green, purple. The water.

In certainty of approaching darkness, I let myself fall.

Memories become. Juicy billows of deceptive citrus skillfully spill a deep ripe vibrancy. Herbaceous green 1978, but today. Moss and creepers, more wonderfully retro and bulky than they've been in a long time. The honey-yellow rays increasingly caught in the predawn state of evening glow.

Moss ferns warm me. Nothing pushes back into the darkness. I remember something. Breathing. The green feelers of the plants reach into my organism. I dig into the resin and lie down beside the little flowers.

Powerful pinks. Earth tones. Feet tied into a tail. I glide through this complex melange of masculine and feminine pithiness as if intoxicated. It remains unclear whether the beguiling power can even be attributed to a gender other than nature.

The sumptuous duality melts into insouciant, leathery bubblegum powder, an imposing but elegant jasmine stringency, orange-speckled citrus sand, and big, heavy blobs of green-resinous dark honey.

A lush, antique floral sea, iridescent and deep. The earthy rugged ground that holds it lies in mysterious sweet vapor on my skin.