@Morganna: it's always nice to get a haiku from you. I really like the last line; I want to sit on a sunny porch and dream of mountains. And then wake up and look over over mountains :)
@Marc: your take seems minimalist this time round, though I like the use of negative space... it's almost like there are no words at all there.
The porch The mountains dream of her. She sits in the old rocking chair, the cushion that's been handed down from grandmother to mother to daughter tucked behind her back. The chair creaks slowly as she rocks back and forth, and the setting sun catches her eyes and then dips away from them again. Shadows slowly lengthen across the grass, and the cat gets up every twenty minutes to lie back down in the remaining sunlight. It's a quiet afternoon, slipping away into evening. The porch is sheltered, the wood of the house behind her is radiating out stored sunlight as heat and it's warm. And the mountains are dreaming of her. Stone thoughts like millwheels grinding against one another, picking up ideas about the world and milling them into fine powder that settles down around them. She feels herself separated and dissipated, the idea of herself spread around, hanging lightly on the air like a haze. It's disconcerting to be so tenuous, to have so little hold on the world. She tries to protest, but what are the complaints of ephemeral humans against the ancient, never-dying mountains? Then the porch seems to close in around her and draw her back, pulling her back into her own shape and own mind and giving her time to remember who she is. The chair creaks and the cushion shifts slightly. The cat mewls; it's time to be fed. She lifts her peak, and a few seconds later remembers that it's a head. Still snowy white on top, and that makes her smile. Then she shuffles, wondering how long she's had legs for, into the house. Behind her, peacefully and unstoppably, the mountains dream of her.
This is a powerful, fantastic piece, born out of Morganna's haiku. Love that the mountains are dreaming of her, and the confusion she experiences at the end. The descriptions and details throughout are, as usual, top notch.
3 comments:
Ev'ry morn, prompt at
Nine, she rolls out on the porch
To dream of mountains.
@Morganna: it's always nice to get a haiku from you. I really like the last line; I want to sit on a sunny porch and dream of mountains. And then wake up and look over over mountains :)
@Marc: your take seems minimalist this time round, though I like the use of negative space... it's almost like there are no words at all there.
The porch
The mountains dream of her. She sits in the old rocking chair, the cushion that's been handed down from grandmother to mother to daughter tucked behind her back. The chair creaks slowly as she rocks back and forth, and the setting sun catches her eyes and then dips away from them again. Shadows slowly lengthen across the grass, and the cat gets up every twenty minutes to lie back down in the remaining sunlight. It's a quiet afternoon, slipping away into evening. The porch is sheltered, the wood of the house behind her is radiating out stored sunlight as heat and it's warm. And the mountains are dreaming of her.
Stone thoughts like millwheels grinding against one another, picking up ideas about the world and milling them into fine powder that settles down around them. She feels herself separated and dissipated, the idea of herself spread around, hanging lightly on the air like a haze. It's disconcerting to be so tenuous, to have so little hold on the world. She tries to protest, but what are the complaints of ephemeral humans against the ancient, never-dying mountains?
Then the porch seems to close in around her and draw her back, pulling her back into her own shape and own mind and giving her time to remember who she is. The chair creaks and the cushion shifts slightly. The cat mewls; it's time to be fed. She lifts her peak, and a few seconds later remembers that it's a head. Still snowy white on top, and that makes her smile. Then she shuffles, wondering how long she's had legs for, into the house. Behind her, peacefully and unstoppably, the mountains dream of her.
Morganna - lovely :)
Greg - hah, yes... almost.
This is a powerful, fantastic piece, born out of Morganna's haiku. Love that the mountains are dreaming of her, and the confusion she experiences at the end. The descriptions and details throughout are, as usual, top notch.
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