moonflower77

He was standing still by the window of his first-floor apartment. The branches of the brugmansia tree outside were heavy with golden-orange blossoms that hung in immaculate, strikingly symmetrical rows; their inebriating scent had, to him, an intensity that was quite beyond words. The thin whitish clouds were dissipating; in a still, bottomless black pool framed by fluffy white shreds, a huge star was swimming like a strange shimmering fish. The sight suddenly brought back the memory of the night when, unable to stir or speak a word, he was lying in the leather stretcher. They had brought him out into the open and removed the blindfold, whic