Ace of Blades

The Ace.

Potential in its purest form. Unadulterated energy. An idea with no pre-suppositions, a statement of full power, a distilled essence of itself.


The suit of the East, of Spring, of Dawn, of winged things. Birds, insects, the wind. The intellect, the rapier wit, the swiftness and the cutting edge of communication, the firing synapses of the mind, the electric pulses that zap through the air around us and between the neurons within us. The word which is the breath of creation; the command which can destroy.

We shot this card at dawn, the rosy light breaking over the hill in the freezing spring air. The blade was sharp against her mouth, her breath fogging against the shining edge. The world was silent, waiting. What would we do? Where would we step? What would we create?

How would this massed potential, this gathered creativity, this perfect storm of fresh beginning, manifest?