7 from Dreda
If you ask for words, I will give you seven on which to write. Dreda gave me these:
Chestnut, fire, translucent, bacon, hands, kibble, birch.
Chestnut
I never had chestnuts until I was an adult, roasting them in the oven myself and burning my fingers on the shells as I pried the soft meat free. I'd wanted them for some recipe of course. Stuffing or some dessert for yule, as if one can create perfect moments from spice and nuts and the right things on the table. So much of my drive for foods comes from books, from the idea of what a holiday or a party should be, more than memories of what they are. And my memories of books are often clearer than many of my actual memories anyway.
Fire
I'd never identified with fire. I was a girl of saltwater - tears and the sea. Water was more home than land most summers. I cannot visit an ocean without at least dipping my fingers into it, no matter how cold it might be. Fire was always a thing to fear or at least have a very, very healthy respect for. But if you asked me truly, I was always afraid of being consumed.
More than once, during my elevation, I was compared to flame. Zsof said, "she is the torch that lights the way." Edward said that I was "a bold flame of truth standing against the darkness of the night." Anne said, "She stands before us, graceful in the firelight -- like flame itself, blazing, incandescent -- and in her words our dreams burn the brighter." Somewhere in learning to perform, I learned to burn.
Translucent
Translucent is a cheating state. It lets you see darkly, indistinctly. To almost be aware of the other side of something. But my favorite translucent things are apache tears. Opaque until lifted to the light.
Bacon
Bacon is nature's other candy.
Hands
People ask you whether you'd trade your sight or your hearing. I've never been able to make up my mind. But I do not know what I would do without my hands. I think better when writing. I cannot order my thoughts without the written word. I cook with my hands. I take care of people with my hands.
Kibble
I've written on this some before. Vashta the devourer. A cynic would say I bought her love with food that first day I brought her inside. Without kibble to give her, I gave her a fair bit of tuna on the side porch. My lonely kitten, who knew I badly needed a kitten of my own. She still runs at the sound of kibble landing in her dish. But I can say, after she was fed, once she simply settled in after that first day, she purred so hard it was like she was spasming, sobbing with relief.
Birch
I loved paper birch as a kid. I wanted to peel away the ribbons of bark in smooth, wide strips to write messages on. I loved the feel of the tiny curls of dried bark in my hands, smelling slightly spicy and sweet. And any copse of birches felt magical, as if surely one would walk into another world, if only you could figure out the right words or time to make it happen. A whispered prayer under the full moon in the summer, and with a murmur and sigh of leaves, the door would open to somewhere.
This entry was originally posted at http://dulcinbradbury.dreamwidth.org/1127721.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Chestnut, fire, translucent, bacon, hands, kibble, birch.
Chestnut
I never had chestnuts until I was an adult, roasting them in the oven myself and burning my fingers on the shells as I pried the soft meat free. I'd wanted them for some recipe of course. Stuffing or some dessert for yule, as if one can create perfect moments from spice and nuts and the right things on the table. So much of my drive for foods comes from books, from the idea of what a holiday or a party should be, more than memories of what they are. And my memories of books are often clearer than many of my actual memories anyway.
Fire
I'd never identified with fire. I was a girl of saltwater - tears and the sea. Water was more home than land most summers. I cannot visit an ocean without at least dipping my fingers into it, no matter how cold it might be. Fire was always a thing to fear or at least have a very, very healthy respect for. But if you asked me truly, I was always afraid of being consumed.
More than once, during my elevation, I was compared to flame. Zsof said, "she is the torch that lights the way." Edward said that I was "a bold flame of truth standing against the darkness of the night." Anne said, "She stands before us, graceful in the firelight -- like flame itself, blazing, incandescent -- and in her words our dreams burn the brighter." Somewhere in learning to perform, I learned to burn.
Translucent
Translucent is a cheating state. It lets you see darkly, indistinctly. To almost be aware of the other side of something. But my favorite translucent things are apache tears. Opaque until lifted to the light.
Bacon
Bacon is nature's other candy.
Hands
People ask you whether you'd trade your sight or your hearing. I've never been able to make up my mind. But I do not know what I would do without my hands. I think better when writing. I cannot order my thoughts without the written word. I cook with my hands. I take care of people with my hands.
Kibble
I've written on this some before. Vashta the devourer. A cynic would say I bought her love with food that first day I brought her inside. Without kibble to give her, I gave her a fair bit of tuna on the side porch. My lonely kitten, who knew I badly needed a kitten of my own. She still runs at the sound of kibble landing in her dish. But I can say, after she was fed, once she simply settled in after that first day, she purred so hard it was like she was spasming, sobbing with relief.
Birch
I loved paper birch as a kid. I wanted to peel away the ribbons of bark in smooth, wide strips to write messages on. I loved the feel of the tiny curls of dried bark in my hands, smelling slightly spicy and sweet. And any copse of birches felt magical, as if surely one would walk into another world, if only you could figure out the right words or time to make it happen. A whispered prayer under the full moon in the summer, and with a murmur and sigh of leaves, the door would open to somewhere.
This entry was originally posted at http://dulcinbradbury.dreamwidth.org/1127721.html. Please comment there using OpenID.