Forsaken by that Lady fair
She glides unheeding through them all
Covering her brow to hide the tear
That still, though checked, trembles to fall
She hurries through the outer Hall
And up the stairs through galleries dim
That murmur to the breezes' call
The night-wind's lonely vesper hymn.
- Emily Brontë
PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK
Peter Weir, 1975
Forming a sense of attachment is often easier than the mere thought of detachment. Change is the only thing that is permanent in this world. That's a fact that we know. So why do we still cling to things of temporary existence? Simply because we want what we can't have.
In Peter Weir's Picnic at Hanging Rock, a group of schoolgirls and their teacher disappear during a Valentine's Day picnic at Hanging Rock. Those left behind are shaken to their Victorian core.
