Her hair was a beautiful mess of feisty curls. When she sang her face contorted as if she was making caricatures of various expressions and emotions. Her reactions were that of her riding a wave and rather than having ownership of her voice, her voice had ownership of her. It was a well controlled performance that still had the smell of the wild, that odour so invigorating to breathe in, it brings out a person’s inner claws and uncontainable urge to howl at passersby.
We all have our inner claws.
sonderfulworld 