[small guy in the big house] - 1 (this is a working title ugh)
Because I don't want this poor journal to suffer the pangs of neglect any longer, I think I shall post this story here.
~{~{~<@
Széllyel tündökleni
Nem látd-é ez földet
Gyönyörű virágokkal?
Mezők illatoznak
Jjószagú rózsákkal,
Sokszínű violákkal.
There should have been flowers.
This soon after a windlong, surely a one couldn't expect booming and blossoming gardens, but the weeds, at least, should have sprouted, ready and vicious to eat away any soil from the roots of the true plants.
Instead, the weeds had curled up in their first few days of sprouting, just like any plant else. Brown burnt their tender leaflets over; the edges crisped, crinkled, crumbled at the slightest touch, more grey than green. Dust yet in the air filled the folds and cracks. Dust rose high at night and dropped more powdery layers on the topsoil every morn, soft on my fingers but killing the plants all the same. It got to be that the Verdai plowed it all up and set the soil again, breaking what shoots had survived and mixing them over with their dead cousins in manure, lime, old ground plants, new-miscat clippings, water, all into a ripe and muddy mess that they smoothed back into the planter-beds and poked full of holes. They spent a whole nother morning seeding them from our storeroom survivors - kept inside once we'd noticed the damage. The courtyard, after that, looked new-made, almost like the past two tendays had never happened.
Here was what House Arracorhi should have looked like on the ninth day of the second tenday after the fortieth thousandday in the Eimahi Eder:
There should have been flowers. At the doors, at the windows, at the roof, at the couryard, at the lights along the House's walls. Everywhere. The out-facing walls and doors would have been, or been being, repainted: lin-white, with those bright red ravens and rooks and crows our namesakes a long line in running round it. (This sort of theme is called the centerline, and it is, in fact, not only a theme in older embroideries, but also a holdover from the Seviy Eder. Current house-painting fashions (fashions for painting houses? Yes, you're as aghast as I) dictate something with more variation, but my mother's side of the family has always been somewhat traditionalist.) The shutters would be, or been being, taken down; those windows that were glasses would be many times cleaned, by now. The ivies would have already been brought back outside and placed along the roof's edges, the dandelion-boxes - dandelions being weeds, but quick-growing and fairly pleasant ones - would be out lining the street-facing walls. And, of course, those curious, those enquiring, and those nosy - i.e, the population of Heibiri Etsara, adults and children inclusive - would be going out of their ways on their daily duties just to get a look at the plants. The clematis would be being coaxed from its windlong pruning into growth and then set either side the street and side doors, and wound into the trellises. People making deliveries would be struck by the potsful of littlebells leading from the inside of the side door to the kitchen and the storage rooms. People coming to call - however few there may be of those - would be led into the greatroom and be met with primroses, in all their audacious colors, Verdai-worked into their new and bright blooms.
There should have been flowers.
~:~::~:~
What I am going to try is this: ~500 words a day.
I have been far too long without writing. I still don't - even writing this I didn't - feel that !!!~\o/~!!! that I generally feel when writing. But I refuse to be like a lumpy thing all rolled up in a blanket and plopping around and not writing just because I don't have the writing at this very moment. No, I know I don't. Yes, I know that's the case. But still - I'm going to write because: despite "you can write whenever you want to", I'm not going to wait for "or whenever you feel like it."
I want to write. I don't feel writingy, but I want to write. So I'm going to try. Every day. 500 words.
We'll see how long this lasts.
and quit giggling behind your sleeves - I'm going to actually try to keep a schedule, just for a magical and sparkling change, alright?
~{~{~<@
Széllyel tündökleni
Nem látd-é ez földet
Gyönyörű virágokkal?
Mezők illatoznak
Jjószagú rózsákkal,
Sokszínű violákkal.
There should have been flowers.
This soon after a windlong, surely a one couldn't expect booming and blossoming gardens, but the weeds, at least, should have sprouted, ready and vicious to eat away any soil from the roots of the true plants.
Instead, the weeds had curled up in their first few days of sprouting, just like any plant else. Brown burnt their tender leaflets over; the edges crisped, crinkled, crumbled at the slightest touch, more grey than green. Dust yet in the air filled the folds and cracks. Dust rose high at night and dropped more powdery layers on the topsoil every morn, soft on my fingers but killing the plants all the same. It got to be that the Verdai plowed it all up and set the soil again, breaking what shoots had survived and mixing them over with their dead cousins in manure, lime, old ground plants, new-miscat clippings, water, all into a ripe and muddy mess that they smoothed back into the planter-beds and poked full of holes. They spent a whole nother morning seeding them from our storeroom survivors - kept inside once we'd noticed the damage. The courtyard, after that, looked new-made, almost like the past two tendays had never happened.
Here was what House Arracorhi should have looked like on the ninth day of the second tenday after the fortieth thousandday in the Eimahi Eder:
There should have been flowers. At the doors, at the windows, at the roof, at the couryard, at the lights along the House's walls. Everywhere. The out-facing walls and doors would have been, or been being, repainted: lin-white, with those bright red ravens and rooks and crows our namesakes a long line in running round it. (This sort of theme is called the centerline, and it is, in fact, not only a theme in older embroideries, but also a holdover from the Seviy Eder. Current house-painting fashions (fashions for painting houses? Yes, you're as aghast as I) dictate something with more variation, but my mother's side of the family has always been somewhat traditionalist.) The shutters would be, or been being, taken down; those windows that were glasses would be many times cleaned, by now. The ivies would have already been brought back outside and placed along the roof's edges, the dandelion-boxes - dandelions being weeds, but quick-growing and fairly pleasant ones - would be out lining the street-facing walls. And, of course, those curious, those enquiring, and those nosy - i.e, the population of Heibiri Etsara, adults and children inclusive - would be going out of their ways on their daily duties just to get a look at the plants. The clematis would be being coaxed from its windlong pruning into growth and then set either side the street and side doors, and wound into the trellises. People making deliveries would be struck by the potsful of littlebells leading from the inside of the side door to the kitchen and the storage rooms. People coming to call - however few there may be of those - would be led into the greatroom and be met with primroses, in all their audacious colors, Verdai-worked into their new and bright blooms.
There should have been flowers.
~:~::~:~
What I am going to try is this: ~500 words a day.
I have been far too long without writing. I still don't - even writing this I didn't - feel that !!!~\o/~!!! that I generally feel when writing. But I refuse to be like a lumpy thing all rolled up in a blanket and plopping around and not writing just because I don't have the writing at this very moment. No, I know I don't. Yes, I know that's the case. But still - I'm going to write because: despite "you can write whenever you want to", I'm not going to wait for "or whenever you feel like it."
I want to write. I don't feel writingy, but I want to write. So I'm going to try. Every day. 500 words.
We'll see how long this lasts.
and quit giggling behind your sleeves - I'm going to actually try to keep a schedule, just for a magical and sparkling change, alright?