Jingles of a midnight knell,
Summons a silent scream, strike hell.
Furtive weavers in the dark,
Stitch a mare-haired voodo, hark!
Have you seen the Pale Horse since?
Eyes of a blue, a whirlpool’s tinge!
Round and around the carousel we go,
Pale Horse is one of Agatha Christie’s detective novels where an alleged group of mediums who call themselves “Pale Horse” uses black magic or remote-control to kill for their customers, people who assign them to kill.
This picture was taken at the zoo -.- yeah I know, of all places. And only yesterday when I was browsing my older pictures, I discovered this picture which I liked a lot. So errie and ominous, as if the three are silent conspirators of the evil.
They appeared to be dancing! A ritual.
In case I’m not clear, its an imagined ritual of course, with the focus gradually drawn deeper and deeper down, into the whirlpool center, without a strand of struggle.
I love flowers, they have a soul of their own.