They walked the path to the lake, along the shore, flowers everywhere and a few bees going about their work. The pier was of grayed wood and the small row boat, lacquered some time ago in merry-go-round tincture. There was no breeze to speak of and the lake laid placid as lakes are wont to do when writers write of them. He helped her into the boat, which gently rocked with her step, only the sound of water and wood and their breathing. He would push the boat from moor and they would drift under the sun and the two of them would fold into each others arms and just drift and rock of their own breathing. Her hair on his shoulder, his hands around her waist, cheeks rosy from an unclouded sky.
For a long time they laid to the sound of gentle lapping water, the texture of textiles, wool, cotton, of wove and weave as crumb and crust, pure as must or wort, sweet as golden mead. With closed eyes they followed the dancing of lids, the smell of fresh washed hair and fingers turning circles, of thumbs on temples rubbing stress with tender strokes, pressing and kneading sweated flesh, mixing salt with oil.
13 comments:
From time to time I use words that from the outside probably look pretensive. My motive is otherwise, which is to say, I used them to use them because I love words and I would love for them to be part of my vocabulary and one way to do that is to use them. So, at the risk of offending anyone, here are the words used in this post that I used for the sake of working them into my lexicon and they appear here because in part they are not and in part they work for the post.
Tincture: used here in the Heraldry sense of the colors used in coat of arms, as in horses, as in a merry-go-round that might be royal
Must: (from the Latin vinum mustum, “young wine”) is freshly pressed fruit juice (usually grape juice) that contains the skins, seeds, and stems of the fruit.
Wort: (pronounced /ˈwɜrt/) is the liquid extracted from the mashing process during the brewing of beer or whisky. Wort contains the sugars that will be fermented by the brewing yeast to produce alcohol.
Crumb and Crust: The soft, inner part of bread is known to bakers and other culinary professionals as the crumb, which is not to be confused with small bits of bread that often fall off, called crumbs. The outer hard portion of bread is called the crust.
Just an opening for now to say simply that this post is abso*lutely charming and I will love you forever and an extra day for the single line amongst and the lake laid placid as lakes are wont to do when writers write of them. Gorgeous!
Glad I didn't edit that line out now. :-D
Love this piece!
Tree! You are Ill! What happened? I am so sorry my friend!. I hope & pray that everything will be fine for you soon!
Thanks Mona. Hope to be better too.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a Trée lay out the banquet of words in this way for readers of all ages and stages. First, the Muse. Then, the 'disgestif'; then, the story of the words through the poet. I love your word-story as much as to the Lake, each in a most different yin-yang way. A microcosmic journey to self-awareness through all the senses, made conscious.
"There will be wholeness when each consumes the other's substance." CG Jung
Constance, I love words and how they shape our ability to know/think or otherwise understand experience. My writing often includes words I'm playing with, trying to work with and understand and become comfortable with. I apologize whenever it seems pretentious but I promise you the intent is very different. I'm just playing, just trying on new clothes, trying to see if they fit, if I like them and most important, if they are the best choice for the experience I'm trying to portray. I don't mind 'big words' as long as they are the right ones for the right reasons. I would do more of what I did in the first comment but I am always afraid of insulting the intelligence of the reader.
The only word I found pretentious was pretensive :=D
:=D
(that was a joke, truly!)
(because I actually loved that you used this word instead of pretentious, it has a different sound and feel.)
and my intelligence doesn't know how to be insulted, just my vanity
('nother lame joke) and how could sharing a passion ever be offensive. Though I know what you mean. Anyway, I love it all.
I'm ba-a-a-a-ck and you know word play is going to draw me in. Love the Wordnik. Anyway, just one vote for word play being among the most seductive games and you are a master.
"
For a long time they laid to the sound of gentle lapping water, the texture of textiles, wool, cotton, of wove and weave as crumb and crust, pure as must or wort, sweet as golden mead."
This one line is poetry in and of itself. Your writing in this post sets a beautifully languid scene.
Constance, the use of pretensive rather than pretentious was a mistake on my part. A happy accident and I like it better for probably the same reasons you do--it just fits better what I wanted to say.
Limes, always good to have you back. :-)
Charlotte, thank you kindly. My words can get a little slippery since I write them as they flow forth and to damn the syntax and grammar and every rule I was ever taught that I never learned. :-D
I collect antiques. We use the fark out of them. My kids bash them around. We scrape table tops with them. I've an old sewing machine that starts on fire every time I sew a curtain.
If you don't use words they die. You are doing them a service and we are all a part of your willing and appreciative audience.
You sure know how to write a moment.
xo
erin
Erin, I might do some more word commentary on the words I'm playing with in a particular post. My brain is like stone--it takes awhile for new words to take root and I find I have to use words in order to give them the best chance. As always, thanks for the kind words.
Post a Comment