(no subject)
from miss autumnknees.
i cheated.
acrobat boys
they are slender willowy and strong, and they laugh with the sun (and their hair) in their eyes.
apple-picking on windy days
the air feels so crisp like you could bite right into it, the sky is so hard and clear and blue you could knock on it and someone would open up the clouds and say hello. the leaves are sunlit and rustling, you have a paper bag and long sleeves and hair all down and blowing, and it's like the wind is getting into your skin, all throughout you, cleaning you out and everything is bright with not even an edge of darkness by the time you pick the first red-green fruit.
beaches on overcast days
there are only snatches of solitary people, if anyone at all. the sky and water roll together, the sand is cool, the wind is stirring your hair and there is nobody to bother you with noise or skin and no burning, no scorching. everything is calm and furious and the sea is itself now without the dazzle of sunlight turning it bright blue and sparkling.
coconut smoothies
it is a hot and dehydrated day and my water is gone and we can't find a lousy plate of mushrooms. but there are smoothies. we ask the lady (she is not a fairy or an archer or even a barmaid like we might think, really she looks like an eccentric minstrel) what flavors there are and she tells us and says strawberry is the most popular; we ask what is your favorite, and she says my favorite is coconut, and nobody ever gets that. so we get that and oh my goodness it is a cup of heaven.
driving with the windows-rolled-down
wind in your hair and trees rushing by. the sky comes down lower. like flying.
fajita rose
she has so many nicknames dropped like snowflakes on the sidewalk. some stick and some melt right away, and this one melted but she still knelt there for hours watching the spot where it had been.
healing hands of god
have mercy on our unclean souls once again. it is a song and a heart-cry.
johnny appleseed
he had a potpan on his head and wandered the country sowing apple trees and playing with woodland animals. i want to marry him. i like to think he was a frecklyboy with a scarf his mama knit him that smelled like woodsmoke and hearth and baking things and his mama's floury hands.
like leaves beneath-the-frost
i have been burned by this world's cold like leaves beneath the frost. it is a song and a heart-cry.
nowt o' the soart
my second-favorite frecklyboy of all, moorboy robinboy, ponytrot and his sister bright-eyed and opening mistress mary quite contrary's clouded little eyes.
sun&moon twin-boys
dear to my heart, one like day and one like night but sometimes it's hard to tell which is which. boys with ancestors who have become legends and myths, who are legends and myths themselves, dark-haired dark-eyed with a radiant cold pale mother and a boiling dark father. maybe a boy is a vagabond, maybe a boy is befriended by lions. maybe the songboy has stolen my heart. maybe they've lived in my mind for so long i forget sometimes that i have to keep telling the story.
the rose-covered tower
from the first novel, where she lived two-hundred years and he one-hundred, painting on walls and writing letters and climbing thorns to see her sisters until bam slam she's hurled into the world and he's walled up in the tower, the living seeing holding tower.
worth more-than-many-sparrows
don't be afraid.
Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.
i don't know, today.
i cheated.
acrobat boys
they are slender willowy and strong, and they laugh with the sun (and their hair) in their eyes.
apple-picking on windy days
the air feels so crisp like you could bite right into it, the sky is so hard and clear and blue you could knock on it and someone would open up the clouds and say hello. the leaves are sunlit and rustling, you have a paper bag and long sleeves and hair all down and blowing, and it's like the wind is getting into your skin, all throughout you, cleaning you out and everything is bright with not even an edge of darkness by the time you pick the first red-green fruit.
beaches on overcast days
there are only snatches of solitary people, if anyone at all. the sky and water roll together, the sand is cool, the wind is stirring your hair and there is nobody to bother you with noise or skin and no burning, no scorching. everything is calm and furious and the sea is itself now without the dazzle of sunlight turning it bright blue and sparkling.
coconut smoothies
it is a hot and dehydrated day and my water is gone and we can't find a lousy plate of mushrooms. but there are smoothies. we ask the lady (she is not a fairy or an archer or even a barmaid like we might think, really she looks like an eccentric minstrel) what flavors there are and she tells us and says strawberry is the most popular; we ask what is your favorite, and she says my favorite is coconut, and nobody ever gets that. so we get that and oh my goodness it is a cup of heaven.
driving with the windows-rolled-down
wind in your hair and trees rushing by. the sky comes down lower. like flying.
fajita rose
she has so many nicknames dropped like snowflakes on the sidewalk. some stick and some melt right away, and this one melted but she still knelt there for hours watching the spot where it had been.
healing hands of god
have mercy on our unclean souls once again. it is a song and a heart-cry.
johnny appleseed
he had a potpan on his head and wandered the country sowing apple trees and playing with woodland animals. i want to marry him. i like to think he was a frecklyboy with a scarf his mama knit him that smelled like woodsmoke and hearth and baking things and his mama's floury hands.
like leaves beneath-the-frost
i have been burned by this world's cold like leaves beneath the frost. it is a song and a heart-cry.
nowt o' the soart
my second-favorite frecklyboy of all, moorboy robinboy, ponytrot and his sister bright-eyed and opening mistress mary quite contrary's clouded little eyes.
sun&moon twin-boys
dear to my heart, one like day and one like night but sometimes it's hard to tell which is which. boys with ancestors who have become legends and myths, who are legends and myths themselves, dark-haired dark-eyed with a radiant cold pale mother and a boiling dark father. maybe a boy is a vagabond, maybe a boy is befriended by lions. maybe the songboy has stolen my heart. maybe they've lived in my mind for so long i forget sometimes that i have to keep telling the story.
the rose-covered tower
from the first novel, where she lived two-hundred years and he one-hundred, painting on walls and writing letters and climbing thorns to see her sisters until bam slam she's hurled into the world and he's walled up in the tower, the living seeing holding tower.
worth more-than-many-sparrows
don't be afraid.
Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.
i don't know, today.