Grey Days

Sunshine and pines trees
go very well together.
Springtime and soft rain's a
perfect kind of weather.
Beach and blue skies and
windy days for a kite;
but grey days and adventures
somehow seem right.
When the wind's in the trees
and the sky lowers down,
when the colors are muted
and the leaves overblown,
when you feel gypsy restless
and the stars seem too near,
then the day must be grey
and adventure be near.

Who am I 

that you know my name?

What am I 

that you know my being?

What causes you,

ineffable giver of life,

to cast your eyes on a filthy clod

of dirt, breathing dirt,

like me--

and raise me up

and cry 

to turn me from mud

to clay

to pristine vase?

I fear the fire

I fear the molding,

I fear the forming of my soul.

But I know--

deep inside I know--

the joy of the potter's own.

I have seen, I have envied,

I have not dared to grasp.

But I don't need to.

You grasp.

I need only to be pliant

and to know that you are God.

Song of the Hermit

“Come home, come home!”
They call to me.
But I have wandered far too long
To give up being free.
“Return, O child,
And sit at home!
Return to the arms
Of our glad company!”
But I am used to being alone
And find I’m sufficient for me.
What need have I of mortal men
When I have found the mystic glen?
Why venture where the mad crowds dwell
When I have found the hidden dell?
“Return! Come home!”
They call to me,
But their voices grow so dim.
I do not heed, for I wander on,
Far from the haunts of men.

I would say this is the lazy way to post

but this blog post by another young lady (total stranger, sadly) was far too good not to share. I know some who stop by this blog (if they haven't given it up as defunct!) aren't on Facebook, which is where I found the post.

http://gracefortheroad.com/2012/02/03/idontwait/

Random writing

Someday, I might actually write this into a story properly. But for now, it's just a random scene that popped into my head.


Haylan swam slowly out to meet them, his dark eyes flickering from Lotan to Harod.
    “Did we scare you so much?” Lotan chuckled. “Did you think we were spirits?”
    Haylan reddened. “Of course not.”
    “But you were scared,” Harod said. “Because we’re humans?”
    “There’s nothing frightening about humans,” Haylan said scornfully. “No, for a moment, I thought instead…”
    They waited a moment for him to continue, before Lotan prompted, “Thought what?”
    Haylan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought you were water women.”
    In chorus, they asked, “Water women?”
    “You don’t know what they are?” They shook their heads. Haylan stared at them incredulously, and then turned and swam back to the bank.
    “Well, what are they?” Lotan demanded.
    Haylan caught at a bush and dragged himself onto the grass. “River demons.” Harod shivered in the water, and splashed to shore. Haylan made room for him on the bank and then continued mysteriously, “They appear as the most beautiful sylphs a man can imagine, with voices sweeter than harps and eyes like the moon on a fair night. And they sing. Whatever it is your heart dreams about, they sing. To a miser, they sing of gold; to a soldier, of fame and glory; to a lonely soul, of everlasting love.”
    “Demons indeed,” Lotan grinned. “I’d give a fair price to have a beautiful woman sing to me of my dreams.”
    “But they’re demons all the same,” Haylan whispered. “No faery dares approach the river when the water women sing.”
    Fascinated, Harod dropped his voice also. “Why not?”
    Haylan smiled grimly. “Because they’ll drag you under the waters and eat you.”

I've discovered Joseph Conrad.

He's most famous for his work "Heart of Darkness", which was an excellent look at the darkness in the human soul. But he captured me before I read that novella, with his short autobiographical story "Youth". The first two sentences did the trick:

"This could have occurred nowhere but in England, where men and sea interpenetrate, so to speak--the sea entering into the life of most men, and the men knowing something or everything about the sea, in the way of amusement, of travel, or of breadwinning.
    We were sitting around a mahogany table that reflected the bottle, the claret-glasses, and our faces as we leaned on our elbows."

Awright, let's have a little fun with words and look at the first sentence. It's a quintessential example of the way they wrote at the turn of the century--a long sentence that at once sets the scene and the time. It's also a masterly opening: "This could have occurred". That raises the prompt question "What?" Conrad doesn't answer the question till the following page, but you don't mind the wait. The scene: the broad, broad ocean and the English sailors upon her. The time: back when the ocean was England's great thoroughfare. Conrad makes reference to steamers as well as sailing ships, so the turn of the century is a safe guess for time. But we don't need an exact year; with Conrad, the general time is enough.

The second sentence is my personal favorite. It's such a well-crafted scene, with such economy of words and such a vivid picture. With that one sentence, we know they must be in a well-to-do setting--mahogany and claret are not for the lower classes! And it's well-kept, for the table is polished brightly enough to serve as a mirror. And that is also why I love this sentence: simply by mentioning the reflection, Conrad tells us what's on the table, what's going on, and who is around the table. He is non-specific as yet, and still clear enough that we understand.

The mention of the claret glasses and the men leaning on their elbows--it must be after dinner, and these men are meeting together to talk, either to discuss business or to visit. Visiting seems more likely, given the casual pose of leaning on the table, and further in the paragraph, we learn we're right. They're visiting with each other, and one man has a particular story to tell of an incident in his youth. But for now, they are meeting. That's all we need to know.

The rest of the story is interesting: a coal barque's trials in attempting to get the cargo to Bangkok, and the disaster that ultimately befalls the ill-fated ship. But those first two sentences--those are genius.

A metaphor

I stood on the bank of a river,

stuck in a toe and felt

invigorated, refreshed, yet chilled to the bone.

And looking over the waves, I perceived

swimmers in the torrent.

Some struggled, nearly sinking,

others floated, eyes glowing,

buoyed up by the icy flow.

I had thought I could swim;

now, I do not know.

But I long, I long

to the core of my soul,

to join those who float,

to float to the sea,

and see what becomes of me.