The exercise:
It's time to get a little random up in here. Pick a song as arbitrarily as you wish, and then make use of its first line as your own. Poetry or prose, credit goes where it's due. You know the drill.
Did a lot of rototilling this morning as we tried to catch up on weeding. Managed to do the paths between our carrots and beets, as well as around our squash plantings, while the girls worked on the onions, shallots, and leeks.
Tomorrow looks like more of the same, as the onion section should be done by early morning and then the hand weeding of the carrots and beets can recommence. I'll be tilling around the tomatoes and zucchini, and maybe by the greens and peas as well. Hoping to be more on top of things by the end of the day, at any rate.
Also tomorrow? My parents are arriving for a brief visit. Really looking forward to Max seeing them again and spending good quality time with his 'other' grandparents.
Mine:
Budapest by George Ezra
My house in Budapest sat only a short walk from the western bank of the Danube. It was a path my feet travelled more times than I could possibly recall. I would sit and watch the boats glide past, often with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in my hand.
I would go there to be alone with my thoughts, but it was rare the days that they would be my only company. Mira often joined me, usually appearing at my side within minutes of my arrival. Sometimes she would have her own coffee, but mostly she just sipped from mine. She might miss a day here or there, for reasons never explained or questioned, but never two days in a row.
We didn't talk all that much, which was the way I liked it. The less I spoke, the less chance of me saying something stupid or off-putting. I enjoyed her company, despite the constant fear of driving her away. That ought to tell you plenty about how great a gal she was.
Or maybe it just tells you too much about how big an idiot I am.
There was never any agreement to meet there again before we parted ways, it was just understood. I'd show up, then she would. Boats and time would pass, my cup would empty, the day could begin in earnest.
It was just understood. I was convinced of that, you know? How could I have been so certain of something never expressed in words? I never suspected how deeply mistaken I was, how much I had to lose.
Not until the day after she stopped meeting me at the side of the Danube.
2 comments:
He's got a very distinctive voice; it seems to grow on you as you listen as well. Thansk for the pointer! ...and good luck with all that farm-work! Sounds like you're pretty busy at the moment :)
Mira is definitely interesting, as is the whole sad tale as it unfolds. I did find myself wondering quite a lot about all the characters here, and would enjoy it if they were to return here and there from time to time ;-)
Placebo – 36 degrees
We were tight, but it falls apart as silver turns to blue. All the colours around me desaturate, losing their lustrous hue. You've moved on again, stepping outwards from the real world into the sepia dimensions and, like a photograph, the world starts to crystallise back into immobility. It's not like I have a choice now. I still need to breathe. I step outwards as well, and then silver turns to blue.
One four six eight seven five ten... I need to learn to count again.
There are eighteen orthogonal directions I could move in now, and all the paths that lead between them, twisting and turning endlessly like the stripes on a barber-shop's pole. You told me once that the red and white was blood and bone, and I believed you.
Waxing with the candlelight... and burning just for you. You taught me how to do it, how to project energy outside myself. Here in the maze at the heart of the multiverse the energy flares upwards and burns in a perfect white flame, and I am at its heart, immolating yet untouched and unconsumed. It's a sorrowful beacon casting long shadows across the ways and worlds, listening for you, hoping that you still resonate with me.
Sixteen, fifteen, forty-one. I count your ribs and I'm off by one. They say that you should light a candle rather than curse the darkness, but the candlelight only attracts monsters who like slow-roasted person for dinner. As I stand here and howl at infinity, watching rust drip from the hands on its face, the monsters triangulate on me, and my heart beats faster and faster and faster.
And then you appear beside me, stepping out from a direction I didn't spot, and take my hand and lead me off into the next world. We'll try again, seeing if this time we can get it right.
Shoulders, toes and knees, I'm 36 degrees. Yeah, the geometry in this world is seriously weird. Just how many knees have I got this time anyway?
Greg - yeah, I really wasn't sure about it the first time I listened to it, but now I can put it on repeat for... uh, a very long time.
Well, we had one return already, but I'll see if they'd like to come visit again :)
Some utterly delightful descriptions in your piece today. What a fascinating place you've described! I certainly wouldn't mind hearing a little more from these two.
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