It Was Not a Windmill

That was not a windmill, it was a beautiful wings-cutting mechanism with a vitreous red peacock inside who puts a solar edged Venice afternoon in motion in a gentle blue square into which we stuck our wings so that our heavier-than-air bodies could happily flutter with one thousand and one flexibilities on the ethereal geometry above the roofs where pharaonic flags pompously glorify us as large cosmic objects pushing comets towards the others in a fireworks game of our honeymoon… and, suddenly we found ourselves down: no, it was definitely not a windmill! www.simonadancila.com