Freewriting 2

Lost am I for a second in a forgetful plight to the world beneath the water. There is a gryphon, frozen in glass, making mummies of horseshoes to spite the name. A struggle for truth is held below, and as the barbs are left fresh in the wounds of the pike there is a substitute that must be made.
Aluminium sheets are collapsing around the man with hair of indigo fire, engulfing and trapping him - yet leaving him unharmed. The girl looks at him in confused amusement, and the boy with cinnamon eyes and marmalade hair, he who breathes bubbles to foreign shores, throws back his head and laughs at the aluminium man in a dusty strawberry voice.
By now a darkness is luring the horizon to a vertical standstill, yelling a lullaby at the valleys to hear it screaming back.
Perfumes are dancing on the river with certain serenity, teasing the lone trout, coaxing it, daring it to leave its slumberous sanctuary and brave the terrifying beauty of the world above the water. The starling watches in amazement, as it is the only emotion it knows.