by Clodia Metelli
Atlas, they say, bears the world on his shoulders. Wretched Titan, it wearied him: he was petrified and glad of it. He should have been a different god and borne worlds in his head. Dreams have no weight and fall away when the day breaks. A dream-world is the lightest burden an old god can bear. (I dreamed a forest last night. The trunks entwined, the branches spreading. It resolved into an ash tree, I think. Deep in my sleeping thoughts, the roots thrust and tangled, drinking my knowledge into nothingness. Wotan will hang there, one-eyed. I forget how long.)
I'm a student of Roman history with a tendency to use my work in my writing and a fondness for the 100-word 'drabble' format.
Pieces Inspired by this Image
'The Sandwich Shrine'
'The Trees Breathe'