Gerda, or a Breath of Air That Freezes Mid-Flight — But Does It Land?

White flakes hold her city down, and it looks as though no heart of ice could ever thaw this weed-grown marsh.

This film deserves nothing but verse. The fear in it, the hatred — all of it has gone, or sunk into one great haze. The space carries on out of habit. In order to live.

Feeling anything is too painful, and condemned in advance in any case. Who you are here, and where the way out of the enchanted wood runs, isn't clear. Even wanting it feels odd: all that follows you is the compulsion to lay yourself completely open to a world that doesn't match.

The question that gets asked — does it need answering, and how much does the answer have to be worth against everything you put into it? We all struggle at it; few get there.

But how ready are you to get off the ground?