Saturday, September 26, 2009

falling leaves

I have missed wordzzles, playing with the words and reading everyone’s quirky and inspired stories. To say life has been crazy busy would be an understatement. Last night, I took a look at next week’s words, and decided to jump in with both feet now. I must admit to feeling a bit rusty. Anyway, here’s my offering. Hello to all the wordzzle Houdinis. Hope all is well with you.

This Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: Tibetan sky, symbols, won’t you come home Bill Baily, shadow figures, brain cortex, practice makes perfect, life, start of school, lavender, chow down

And for the mini: mental hospital, falling leaves, apple cider, packing crates, clues

It was that time of year where everything from the mullet to the grasshopper was peaking. A full flush fanned the table. The ripened tassels swilled in the hills. Priscilla was afraid that all this brilliance would crest too soon, disappear without a trace. This damned season which caused her clouded blood to slow.

This was the 20th anniversary of the “unraveling‘’ which had landed her in the Oak Hills Mental Hospital. It was painful to think about. For so many years the memory of it had dwelled in her marrow, rebuffed. And the hooded dread had swelled and had its way.

With the start of school, she was hopeful again. Life was full of symbols. The falling leaves carnelian under a wide Tibetan sky.

Priscilla stared at the packing crates stacked in a self satisfied configuration in the SW corner of the room. They stared back at her. Filled to the brim with keepsakes not worth keeping. Spiral journals penned in lavender ink. It was the close of her 19th summer and she was tired of tracking down clues. Shadow figures lurked on every corner. Paul’s unsandeled feet portended death. The Phrygian caws were a certain sign. And the jam between her toes was full of mold.

She sat at the piano, fingering chords that filtered through her brain cortex like shadowed figures. Won’t you come home Bill Baily. Won’t you come home? She wanted to hear the refrain again. Practice makes perfect. She cupped the mulled apple cider closer. Then chuckled to herself, reinforcing the comfort that flooded. The falling leaves were at once beautiful in their covenant. Soon she would chow down blissfully on butternut soup. And open her books.

These were the burning times!


the watercats said...

ooooohhhhh.. intense!... loved it! nicely poetic writing, thanks for sharing :-)

Argent said...

I'm with the Watercats - very rich word-soup, lovely!

Raven said...

Gorgeous as always. So good to have you back. Sorry life has been hectic. Same here. I will be glad when renovations are over, not just for the result but for the return of my version of normalcy.

TomCat said...

Nicely done. I don't personally have time to do memes, but I appreciate seeing one done well.

Reston Friends! said...

Glad you're back! It's nice to have some variety!

Mariana Soffer said...

Interesting post, got it throw walking man:
reminded me of this sentences
"Words make you think a thought.
Music makes you feel a feeling.
A song makes you feel a thought. "

I was thinking that you might like this

Bye boy

Stephen said...

It was an interesting story, written very poetically, and a little mysterious.

Stephen from Scottsdale, Arizona, USA

Deborah said...

I read to be stimulated by how other writers use words - and found that in your poetry, via Raven and other places I can't recall. I'll return!

JP/deb said...

Wonderful piece of prose!! You did an excellent job of weaving all these prompts together in a seamless manner.

Cloudia said...

Dancing words!

Aloha, Wild Friend

Comfort Spiral

Shraddha@theselfloveproject said...

very good use of the words..