Zeke rubbed the sleep from his clear grey eyes and with hands mindful, almost prayful, opened the ocean front window in the master bedroom as he had done a thousand times before. Light poured forth warming wood and face with hues of yellow and orange as the clear translucent teal waves gently laid sparkling lace upon the whey beach with the practiced grace of a thousand years; an act performed for neither eye nor ear, beast nor man, seeking no reward save expression. A breeze sensual, messenger of flowers and trees alike, combed his silver locks with gentle fragrant fingers and taking breath he honored the gift with a moment uninterrupted. From a distance both near and far, birds chripped playful morning notes, flirting from tree to tree, weaving the day with threads of joy. The bright ocean sung a song for his soul as if sound itself could cleanse the weight of the unseen and he took another breath as one takes the guilty pleasure of candy from a platter. The villa was quiet, with the exception of Blu. Today he would walk, barefoot, upon the carpet of nature, the world as his orchestra, the sun as his beacon.
13 comments:
A first for the story: the flower is a photograph from my backyard. I used a palette knife filter in Photoshop to take the edge off.
Today he would walk, barefoot, upon the carpet of nature, the world as his orchestra, the sun as his beacon.
Wonderful description Trée. Spring is so lovely.
Deb, I feel like I've been waiting ages for Spring. I'd like to have a little more Global Warming please. :-D
That flower is gorgeous.
I miss being in a house with a backyard filled with flowers needing to be watered each morning in the summer.
And I REALLY need to wake up to a day like THIS. I want to walk barefoot on a carpet of nature!
But, everyday the world is my orchestra....I love how you worded that. It is truly amazing the 'music' that goes on around us each and every day. I appreciate the sounds around me so very, very much. I love how you worded that. I am working that phrase into Strumpet-speak.
Hope you don't mind.
xoxo
That pink flower frailing kicks ass. I can almost smell its heady aroma drifting up from the moment your page loads...
Wait...if I close my eyes...I can....
LMAO, you know what is funny, that last line was added after this chapter was written, almost as an afterthought. The more I write, the more I realized I have no frailing idea. :-D
Strumper, always a pleasure to see you stopping by. Wanna walk on my back? :-D
What you said just there, reminds me of the line in CC about what arms might miss, hearts will catch, I remember you once saying that you almost took that line out again, that were it not for a chance decision, it never would have been included and it was the line that ever so slightly, since the others are too, was best loved by those that were commenting then.
Papa at Valla, the thought in itself conjures images of him walking the beach, year after year, of white tunics, of living lanterns, and rainbow owls, and cobwebs, but mostly I think of the painting, where he walks alone. This reads like a poem, sonnet-like in the language and softness of tone and it’s almost like you have written this before, so familiar seems the scene (on a side note, for no particular reason other than it made me smile, I was wondering if the house was ever referred to as Villa Valla or Valla Villa, which made me think of Villa Villacula in the Pippi Longstocking books), so at home it feels to be here, at home, with Zeke, in his element. There are so many singular groups of words here that come under the category of ‘wholly lovely’ that in the end there is nothing left to place anywhere else. You do this so well, paint nature’s portrait to look as lovely as the real thing can. Warm wood, weaves and grace, sensual breezes and oceans that sing, threads of joy, cleansing, melody and colours, messenger of flowers and trees combing silver locks with gentle fragrant fingers, orchestras and beacons, sweet, poetic soul, your words are to describe the land are, apologies for the corniness that is the power of your writing, heavenly. And the luscious bloom to go with it, glorious colour and like this chapter as it relates to you as a writer, one exquisite, perfect example of nature in all it’s glory. Was so nice to see a photo of yours also, made me think of posts pre-The Story, of the tree branches that you posted once, of the cycle route and the story that went with it of injuries, and teeth. :-D
Words like these, describing a scene such as this, I've seen them come hundreds of times from you, short and long, in chapters and elsewhere, a natural flow, sharing, of what has been seen by the heart, there would be some way of saying that with more dexterity, but my point is, like the flower, this is the beauty of you, how you see, how you process, how you share.
May say it better later.
Sunshine, I read a comment like yours and I just want to write and write and write. That is the gift you give to me so often and without fail. Thank you.
A chapter like this comes in part I think from wanting to be in his shoes, wanting to have that experience, that peace, those sounds, the carpet of sand under my feet, the ocean washing my soul as only waves upon the beach can do.
I wish I knew what you saw or see in me that makes you say the things you do. I don't often express it here, but I have my doubts as to the contribution I make, of the lives I touch or don't touch. Some days I feel like John, standing in front of that mirror and other days I feel like Trev with the thorn flower in my hand and other days like Yul in the bathroom with the lights turned low and wondering who that is that is staring back and then some days like Von wanting to ease the grip of reality with amber snoot in crystal glass. I suppose of late, those days have hovered closer than I would like and I feel caught in a fog or mist, at the mercy of forces other than myself to lift a tone, a mood, a hue and I realize all that is real is more than all that can be seen or touched or shared.
Just a quick hello. I missed reading this week and I will be back later in the evening to devour you latest posts! Hope you have a pleasant evening.
Jennifer
Why do I say the things I say.. First up, all that I say I mean with all that I am. I am also not sure that I can list and categorize the reasons for you, some of those reasons aren’t definable as such. Besides which I like the thought of labelling qualities that you possess that are reasons to adore you, for though I could list many, they are just parts of the whole and so instead what happens is that words are used that really don’t mean much at all. I’ve spoken for example before of recognizing the essence of you from those very first visits. I knew right away there was something special about you and the last almost 3 years have confirmed that countless times. One can enter the debate of how well one can really know a person when the majority of contact is via a blog, but I will still profess that what often happens here is that a lot of the red tape, so to speak, that we have to go through in the real world in order to ‘get to know’ someone does not exist to the same extent here. The anonymity allows us to be more honest for in principle, not to be misunderstood, the people we meet here are of no consequence to our daily lives. Unlike most of those that come here, or at least, those who were here around (our neighbourhood) the time that you and I began blogging, your purpose and what you hoped to gain from blogging was obviously different. For them, a dialogue was secondary, or a happy side affect the existence of such a possibility not known beforehand, where you were always extremely engaging. You’re a giver, and a tireless one, to very large extent in any case. With your first posts, as now, your page was thought-provoking and inspiring and just plain joyful. I remember posts such as the children running, Ahimsa, the flower that brought a smile, Andrax, I remember the post about Clive’s blog, the baby hedgehogs, the haikus, a dollar for every minute, Time, the child in the hand, and so many more. These posts and the others showed several things, an intelligent, enquiring mind, a window opener, a caring heart, a thankful person looking for the positives, looking for more reasons to be thankful and focusing all efforts that way, the posts about New Orleans, Christopher Reeve, the Canadian Plane crash (and so on), someone who understands the relationship between all of us, Aggie’s moon, an autumnal picture with thoughts. A great sense of fun, comments at yours, yours mostly were a real giggle, and then there was FNF and other posts that brought a smile, but more than that, posts like the one mentioned above, the children running and Jimmy Clift. I remember also one night a conversation on your blog that included Aggie…in short, a great to put it in layman’s terms depth and always looking for more, more clarity, more knowledge, more relationship. The listening workshop. James for Tube, a million and one, with little exaggeration and what is will be reached, of your caring nature. The care with which you read, the books unfinished, the affinity with nature, the attention, or respect rather, reverence, for it’s detail, the parts within you that brought chapters like the shopping mall, the spider web, the fireflies and walking without prints, lanterns kissed and goodbyes on the dock, Mairi cradling Trev, Em cradling Trev, Yul talking about letting go and Von on his knees embracing holographic words, bound leather and warm wood, fragrant breezes and sapphire eyes. The deep journeys that you take us on within the souls of your characters, all of which stem from your own, think about that, :-), to have so many complete characters emerge from the mind of one person, the understanding of the nuances of each of those and how it varies them from one another, how they interact and grow and learn and reveal still more and how they connect to their own pasts and that shared, how elements and relationships influence them as well as and because of their personalities. They are the sum at any given time of the heretofore, known and unknown, and with each step they gather still more. Nothing stale about this story or still about this story. Forever improving, never satisfied and knowing there is always more, the belief in yourself, true, that you are capable of more and that you can perspiration will get you where inspiration cannot yet reach. Interest in others, how they think, how they see, how they interpret. Starfish. Deena. Your enthusiasm and your passion. There aren’t many of them, not as many as I should like to see is what I mean, but your videos, watching you talk about your characters, with such excitement, with such passion to repeat, I think of Ceru, of your talking about Von, as he kneels, and my heart stops still for a beat still now just remembering you talking about this scene. Friendship, deep listening, interest, the questions that you ask, the support you show. No-one did what you did, when my father was ill, for example. There was you, and I felt that, and it impacted, it mattered, and I will love you always for that also. The thankfulness – I wrote some of this the other day and so may be repeating myself – that resides within you, your dogs, the birds that visit your yard, being able to ride your bike, your family, comments from bloggers, breath and life and beauty and the bare necessities. Your honesty. Your forthcoming manner, in some respects anyhow. Whatever and this too shall pass. Teachers. The way you speak of C, of wanting him to read this story one day, of the lion king, of the fractal that had to do with bullying, of what he was wearing at the window, of the love and pride and care. Gifts given, so meaningful, so touching. Words written, gardens, crossroads, the amber heart, peace flowers. The man and his son who asked for a favour. Circles completed in embrace. The children, Kyra, Ariel. Happiness for others, believe me, that is much rarer than one would hope, genuine happiness for others. CC, John and Cait (in the beginning), Trev and Em, Rog and Yul. An awareness of the passage of time and our fleeting presence here, the trees that John drove by, just recently Papa staring out to sea, again the leather and warmed, aged wood, the two that bring this message home to the greatest extent, methinks, amongst. The grid. The humour. Von, dear Von, his journal, his son, Silus, snoot, talks with Rog, with John, with Kyra, his heart, his past, his reasons, his eyes closed. The fractals for your father, the fractal for Mario. The way you read Woolf and write a chapter. The way you write a chapter with such beauty in the space of minutes. The precepts. The things that you think about and the things that you believe. That it took a year of talking before anything was understood to some extent in regards to cowdom, that it took still longer to say goodbye to red hats and still it remains hard. That you always know how to make a person smile, regardless of what is going on in their lives. That when others, myself included, know not what to say other than to shed a tear along side, you know just what is needed. As Aggie writes, the link to all that is hopeful. There is such a great sense of warmth that surrounds you, of grounding. I know not what influence you have in your daily life, what contribution you make, but I cannot imagine anything other than the fact that just as here, when someone is open to receiving, the touch that you offer is huge and altering. You’ve said it yourself, we know not what seemingly insignificant act can have the power to change someone’s day, someone’s life, you wrote of being told that something you said once having a profound effect upon another and that they had told you this some 20 years later. Touches can be small and they can be great, but the thing about you is that you are always there reaching out to touch and be touched, always more, there is always room for more. And the more given, the more received, ever increasing circles. Coffee and decks, and gardens. The way you keep things to yourself, much of the time, and yet stand forward for others. The half laugh, I adore your half-laugh, and the explanations about sitting down on your couch and such like. The way you throw us out there into window land and dip us in the love that exists between characters. That you quoted Curly, that you fell in love with August Rush, and James. That you understand anything I write and haven’t gotten completely tired of me yet. The field of love. Where Kieran resides. Free hugs and Dancing in the Moonlight. The images, oh gosh, so much beauty created that were it not for you, would not exist and we would not have had the great pleasure of watching. The story, same, if not for you, all those words, those singular sentences that took my breath away, if not for you, there would have been no falling in love with Rog and Von and Em and….No Valla, no Hyneria, No Bravo, in both senses. That you told me the cake looked disgusting. And so many, hundreds, of comments about the place, Amber when she was worried about not being good enough to cite but one. Your vulnerability. The contradictions. That you can talk forever and are quiet sometimes. That you continue, even when the cows have come home. I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my world looks all the more beautiful for knowing that there you are, and reading you, having you open those windows, knowing and loving your characters, seeing the world through your eyes, I wouldn’t have been without these last couple of years and I wouldn’t be who I am for it, a part would be missing, experiences, thoughts, feelings, ideas, knowledge, understanding, insight, I wouldn’t have had those, not those particular ones, and I am thankful, so very, that I do, that I did read, that I did have the opportunity to be enriched by knowing, reading you. So yes, I knew it straight away and you've shown me nothing but since, you are beautiful of mind, of heart and of soul. And every word in this post is a testament to it. And I realize now, as I finish, I've only yet responded to some.
...:-)
Sunshine, I think I'm going to print this comment out and carry it with me and when I wear it out, print out another and another and another. Need to catch my breath so thought can flow again. :-)
Was just reading, many typos, but one that matters, I don't like listing rather than I like listing, and the continue until the cows come home had to do with writing and being open, not talking, as it seems to be. Sweet dreams, :-), H
Oh, and I love the header image.
The images of your words are so beautiful.
W, those are very kind words. Thank you. :-)
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