The Oracle

The light now streams into the room, through the slightly parted curtains.

The mesh like curtains, offer a hazy view of what is outside. The streaming light bounces onto the marble floor offering a scratchy reflection blocked in part by the rug. The reflection blends into the rug and comes out on the other side. Next to it is the reflection of the white sofa, which blends into the white curtains, which blends into the white walls. As you move up the walls, the purity of the reflections and the white is broken by a new image.

A black and white image.

An old man, conjuring up the gods. Praying for rain. For his people. For the drought to end. He blends into his black background and is streaked with a swirling dust sparkle jet stream. The stream is frozen and captured in black and white. But next to it, the light that streams into the room, through the slightly parted curtains, highlights the swirling dust sparkle jet stream that is not frozen. It moves the way the one in the image ought to move. Towards the light or away from it, you cannot be sure. But you can see the glint in the old man’s eyes.