The sun rose with a golden palette, light as warm as silent, working without need, giving of itself with nary a thought for the morrow. Upon the beach a gentle breeze combed the oats, a natural bent to the west, their faded hues bobbing like corks upon the sea. Trev sat the deck, facing the ocean, back straight, nude, a landscape known to finger and eye, to lip and tongue. Em watched, soaking in the sight as leaf and petal before the pail, drinking in thoughts delicious, of dreams lived, of a future seen.
Tell me, tell me without hesitation, she asked, what are you thinking?
He smiled without opening his eyes, seeming to breath with the ocean, his chest gentle swells. I'm loving you, he said, eyes still closed, head statue still, jaw smooth and chiseled as artisan marble.
She waited for more, for an explanation to connect the word and the action, which to her mind was less than clear. Loving me? I see. Or perhaps I don't. Tell me how sitting silently, eyes closed, facing the ocean, alone, is loving me?
I can only give what I possess he said. When I woke this morning and I looked upon your still sleeping face, your cheeks smiling in dream, your bosom warm in the way of young flesh in the dawn, I asked myself, do I have what you need? And in that moment, before you greeted the day, as the sun slipped his note under our door, I knew I was lacking. But I also knew there was time. So here I am. Harvesting peace and serenity and tranquility, mining joy and compassion and love, filling my satchels with smiles and patience as I educate my ears to listen and my heart to open and my eyes to see and my lips to impart and my hands to sing. And I do this, I do this to love you, to give of the bounty, to share in life for where there are two there is separation, and where there is separation there is longing, and where longing sits, loves beckons. I heard the call, of trumpets in the matutinal sky. So here I sit, loving you.
She sat with words in her heart that her tongue could not translate.
11 comments:
Part a)
Your passages describing nature are lovely as the real thing. Poetry heard and seen to be conveyed, opening sentences as an introduction to setting, to mood, the way that you do is always something to behold. The idea of the sun painting the landscape in golden tones warm and light and of oats bending in the wind gives outline to such an inviting, tranquil scene with the sea framing a very still Trev. Drawn to the part that describes Trev as a landscape, not only for the reason of how it continues which is delicious, of knowing another so well, but of the implication, or at least this is where my thoughts led, of a canvas once blank painted upon. The expression too of drinking in thoughts, wonderful.
The last part, or to put it better, the essence of this chapter threads arms with others, others that I recall listing not so very long ago, hearts that tenderize, circles that close, eyes that look with love upon strangers, words that are embraced, lesson of the shells and many more, each of which shows the essence of you. This final passage is one of the best loved already. I have so much more to say, will be back.
Lovely.
"He smiled without opening his eyes, seeming to breath with the ocean, his chest gentle swells. I'm loving you, he said, eyes still closed, head statue still, jaw smooth and chiseled as artisan marble."
There is an ethereal quality to this though it is still so connected to nature.
"And in that moment, before you greeted the day, as the sun slipped his note under our door,"
again...the personification of nature here is lovely and apropos to the entire piece.
well done.
Thank you Blue. I close my eyes and type the scene as I envision it. Perhaps creating the world I'd like to live.
Sweetest, most of my chapters pivot on a single idea. Coming off of vacation, knowing how I feel and react now as opposed to before, the idea of taking care of oneself so that one is ready to take care of others was present with me this morning. The idea took form via Trev. Good man to have around. :-D
Okay, I'm back, and now I'm getting hooked. This is really beautiful and relaxing. I write erotica, but nothing lyrical or poetic. But I wish I did.
Ryan, nice to see you back. I often have single visit visitors who say kind things but never return. So welcome back. :-)
As for the lyrical or poetic style, I'm not sure what to say other than I don't make the effort to try to write this way, it's simply the way my mind works. To write in a non-lyrical fashion would require effort. Not everyone enjoys or appreciates writing like this. I will admit, to read what I write requires, like poetry, more effort on the part of the reader and I do sincerely appreciate those who make to effort to bath in the metaphors and see beyond the words.
I love it...it's relaxing and takes me away from what I normally write. And when I'm not working that's what I want to do...escape to someplace that makes me feel different.
Thanks.
"When I woke this morning and I looked upon your still sleeping face, your cheeks smiling in dream, your bosom warm in the way of young flesh in the dawn, I asked myself, do I have what you need?"
Everything else that followed this sentence was so very nice. But in truth, this sentence would be enough for me.
Just perfect.
Jen
Thanks Jen. I just wrote you a comment on the post Afflatus that petty much sums up your comment and why I write. Almost spooky how my comment on that post and yours here twine as if our minds were twirling around the same rose on the dance floor. :-)
Cha Cha Cha!
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