Magnificence/Lycra

For today's WordCrafters prompt:

They are the same: the ocean and this housedress.

Both spun and soaked and sunned

dark as a faded sky.

And underneath? Turquoise yoga pants today,

Patterned like a shallow sea,

Like this place

Years back when dinosaurs bellowed

From cycads near a sandy rim

state parks away.

I am the ghost of my sea-haunted

childhood library, now

spine-cracked,

Which I am, today, dusting.

The photo above is taken several moments before I noticed a palm-sized orb spider nearby and very nearly yelled and passed out in the waterlilies. Orb spiders don't really bother me, except when I see one unexpectedly huge and nearby and am out in the afternoon sun perhaps a little longer than I should have been.

Fortunately, I made it back to the car and home without further incident, to be greeted by Arthur bouncing up and poking his snout in my face to make sure that I hadn't snuck a second lunch while out. And now, back to drafting...which is going to look a good deal like reading on the couch but is the mental equivalent of turning the compost heap to make sure the soil is rich and full of potential. It was good to be out of doors and among writers this afternoon. :)

-- Chrissa

Comments

To Blue Fields Far Below

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties. A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles Someone washed the blue skies and she knows It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home. Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom). -- Chrissa

Flagrant

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :) Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air. Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2 at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...

Once Upon a Future Past

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

A Weed on The Curb

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