Inspiration

This writing short was an assignment where we were to listen to a song in a style we don't normally listen to by an artist we never heard before. I went down to the library and picked out some Jazz and this is the result. I am not completely happy with it as I was trying to capture a moment of tipsiness that is caused by innocent happiness. The song was 'Glass Dolphins' by John Klemmer and definitely worth a listen to!

                "Oh," Abby sighed. "What a lovely evening. Simply lovely." She twirled happily, relishing the swirl of her skirts spiraling around her. She laughed joyfully as she suddenly stopped and threw her arms out wide, eyes shining bright as the evening stars, a face full of hope and promise.  She was beautiful in the way of youth, not yet touched by the sorrows and the wisdom that time can bring.

                The young gentleman smiled as he watched her. Gallantly he offered his arm. "Shall we?"

                She smiled brightly back and accepted stumbling slightly as they strolled through the garden. She was unused to the champagne that she had drank earlier, feeling so grown up and worldly as she did so. The dancing had been sublime, the music inspiring and the young men exciting. Her brown eyes sparkled at her escort as they stopped before a fountain surrounded by violets and pansies carefully planted around the base. In the fullness of the sun, the colors promised to be rich and vibrant.  Yet tonight, with the moonlight shining down the deep blues and purples ruled the garden as the water flowed from the basin of the sweet Grecian maiden and poured into the pool below. She sat gingerly on nearby bench and gazed adoringly at Thomas. He was so handsome and so attentive, she sighed to herself, his eyes the warmest of browns.

                Thomas glance down at her, his eyes catching the stray ringlet of soft brown hair that had escaped during the energetic dancing from the artistically arranged pile of curls. He was fascinated how it looked so enticing along her neckline.  He swallowed nervously and looked down, trying not to think about the pinkness of her lips.

                "Oh I so do not want the evening to end." Abby said wistfully. "But mama will notice me missing soon and wish to head home."

                "We don't want her to worry." Thomas agreed as he once more offered his hand with the intention to return inside. With a small measure of regret she agreed as they left the garden and the brief moment of peaceful freedom for the bright lights of the party.

                "Thank you Thomas. It was a wonderful evening." She told him as she spotted her mother from across the room, cloaks and hats in hand.

                "Yes. It certainly has been a pleasure Miss Abby." He told her. "May I...may I call on you tomorrow?" He asked hopefully.

                Her smile was only answer he needed.

                

Another Writing Short

(This was a  10 minute short prompted by one of my walks through a local park. I rather like it and hope to expand upon the idea some day)

 She lived in a strange world of in-between pulled by both the seen and the unseen, lingering just out of eyesight in the world of dreams. It was clearly reflected as she walked done the gentle path, hoping to clear her mind. The cold wind blew in her face, the chill of a fading winter, while the inconsistent rain fell in hesitant drops. On her right was the man-planted gardens of bark dust and hardy bushes arranged and tended with the slight disorganization of a disinterested gardener. The bushes were allowed to grow freely instead of painstakingly shaped and trimmed but still clearly intentionally planted.  On her left was the untouched wild of true nature; twigs and fallen branches cluttering the ground from the recent storm, ferns and moss were green and abundant, trees of both evergreen and leafless frames grown as if planted by wind and fate. An element of survival echoed in the scenery on her left.

                On her right, the houses were a silent witness to private affairs both inside and out, while the sounds of birds calling and squirrels were busy and active in the ample undergrowth. It was not bitter cold of the previous month but the damp cold of spring to come. Buds of new leaves, flowers and berries were only observable to a very keen eye as the bulk of the forest were still skeletal in form. Moss hung heavy on the limbs, not unlike a green snowfall. As she continued to the long and winding bridge, crisscrossing over the running stream, her thoughts grew melancholy.  Must she choose, which world to live in? Could she not straddle the edge like this path and find a home in-between or would such a uncertain state of being eventually drive her mad? As if an answer to her thoughts, the harsh cries of distant blackbirds issuing their warnings caught her attention just as a blue jay swooped down before her suddenly. Startled she stared at the proudly defiant bird as sharp black eyes watched her walk past.

                Her eyes looked forward to where the path curled to the right, sloping slightly uphill. The birds just ahead were smaller and sang a sweeter song. She also knew, that if she chose to alter her vision, she would see more than just birds. She would see the mischievous inhabitants of the Seelie world. 

On Walking and Running

I love my morning walks. After the push of getting everyone out the door way too early for everyone's liking, making sure lunch is packed, homework is ready, breakfast is consumed, clothes are put on, kitties are fed and medicated, all culminating in catching the bus and waving them off to school. Then I take a deep breath, turn on my ipod and head for the park that is a short block away. It is my time to reset and recharge for the day. Sometimes I work my Nia routines, sometimes I daydream, sometimes I run countless lists through my head and sometimes I cry.

With Rebecca in early morning math this year, even with car-pooling, I find that I have been missing my morning walks more often than not. I have missed the rhythm of the seasons turning as last year I was walking through snow and rain until spring came. I have missed seeing the same walkers who are out early, usually walking their dogs, where we nod and smile, knowing that we are the few who venture out in the rain. Most everyone else will stay away.

Today, I finally was able to walk without the pressure of appointments cutting my time short and I noticed how spring was blooming quickly in the sweet green of new leaves and tiny soft colored flowers. Even the moss and streaks of mud upon the grass where the water has receded from the recent rains seem to call in the wet, fresh and ever unpredictable weather of spring.  And with spring, also comes the runners, joining the walkers and the dog walkers in our morning routine. 

I remember running. As a small child, it was so easy. I didn't think about it. I just ran. For fun, part of the chase, part of getting where I wanted to go and when I was tired, I would just stop and catch my breath. It was so easy. There was no thinking involved, no counting of calories, no goals in mind except to tag the other child and transfer the 'itness' that was part of the game. It was only later when running became a measurement of time and distance that I began to think about running. It was then, that I discovered, I didn't particularly like running even though it was still relatively easy. I liked the feeling of accomplishment afterwards but the act of running, the love of running for the sake of it has eluded me. The adrenaline rush was never as satisfying as a hike up the mountain or the peace that comes when I would empty my mind or the little details I would notice in the world around me, things I would miss by rushing past. Still, I never thought about running with the words 'I can't'.

Today, running seems so far away. Not just the idea of running for time and distance, for calorie counting and exercise, but the kind of running that takes you across an open field that seems to go on forever. The kind of running filled with joy and laughter, just because you can. The kind of heart racing that feels good instead of work. Still, I remember it with a kind of wistful sadness of something important that was lost and I'm not quite sure when it happened. Maybe it is time for me to rediscover my own way of running, or maybe it is not the running that I miss but the sense of play, pure joyful play.