One day as I strolled along the strand, I noticed an attractive, well-tanned young couple about six or seven paces ahead of me. I saw the young lady, in a playful flower-print chemise lean on her young man's shoulder and say:
Young Lady: "You know what I like most about you?"
Young Man: (Modestly) "What's that?"
Young Lady: "It'd be real easy to get over you."
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Winter Nights (part I)
And there opened before me a high arch-ed proscenium divided vertically into three roiling cloudmasses, roughly equal in proportion and vehemence to the others, each contending with its neighbour. In the east and the west swelled great curls of inky black vapour attempting but never quite succeeding to overtake the space dominated by the centremost cloud--a confident bank of translucent mist that ebbed and billowed rhythmically with a warm, golden light.
None of these appeared in any way to be stronger or weaker, faster or slower than the others; and one sensed that, so far as any awareness or intelligence could be ascribed to them, the darkness of east had no acquaintance with or awareness of the darkness of the west, and vice versa. They frenetically struggled simultaneously against the calm confidence of the central light but they did not struggle together. For a long time I watched, and none made any appreciable inroads against the others that were not immediately countervaled by corresponding concessions. Each sortie was quickly and inevitably followed by a retreat, every sharp-edged curl disintegrating quickly into the background as an incoherent mass of thousands of individual transparent droplets.
Below such a sky lay a snow covered winter tableau, ringed by pine trees of fantastical height and focused upon a warmly lit building in the middle distance. It was not a private dwelling, although a few sparsely scattered homely cabins, more dimly lit, did float in its orbit. It was a gathering place of some type and built in a sober style that announced neither pretension nor its opposite. About three stories in height, each marked by a row large rectangular windows and neatly made of an inoffensive beige brick. A wide and tidy set of steps four or five courses deep led up to its shining glass vestibule.
From where I stood there seemed to be an easy flow of steady human traffic both into and out of the building. Curious, I made my way through the crowd to discover the exact nature of the transactions conducted here. And as I drew nearer, the pleasant rhythmical hum and human register of their voices gave me to understand that some sort of provision was being distributed here, though I could not detect any discretely intelligible words or phrases.
As my first footfall sounded against the barren concrete of the steps, I looked up to see about three metres away an attractive red-haired woman approaching. She was strikingly got up in a dramatic ensemble of leopard-spotted fur, a long coat and short skirt, with silky black stockings accentuating her shapely legs to good effect. She led a hungry-seeming jungle cat on a stout metal chain.
None of these appeared in any way to be stronger or weaker, faster or slower than the others; and one sensed that, so far as any awareness or intelligence could be ascribed to them, the darkness of east had no acquaintance with or awareness of the darkness of the west, and vice versa. They frenetically struggled simultaneously against the calm confidence of the central light but they did not struggle together. For a long time I watched, and none made any appreciable inroads against the others that were not immediately countervaled by corresponding concessions. Each sortie was quickly and inevitably followed by a retreat, every sharp-edged curl disintegrating quickly into the background as an incoherent mass of thousands of individual transparent droplets.
Below such a sky lay a snow covered winter tableau, ringed by pine trees of fantastical height and focused upon a warmly lit building in the middle distance. It was not a private dwelling, although a few sparsely scattered homely cabins, more dimly lit, did float in its orbit. It was a gathering place of some type and built in a sober style that announced neither pretension nor its opposite. About three stories in height, each marked by a row large rectangular windows and neatly made of an inoffensive beige brick. A wide and tidy set of steps four or five courses deep led up to its shining glass vestibule.
From where I stood there seemed to be an easy flow of steady human traffic both into and out of the building. Curious, I made my way through the crowd to discover the exact nature of the transactions conducted here. And as I drew nearer, the pleasant rhythmical hum and human register of their voices gave me to understand that some sort of provision was being distributed here, though I could not detect any discretely intelligible words or phrases.
As my first footfall sounded against the barren concrete of the steps, I looked up to see about three metres away an attractive red-haired woman approaching. She was strikingly got up in a dramatic ensemble of leopard-spotted fur, a long coat and short skirt, with silky black stockings accentuating her shapely legs to good effect. She led a hungry-seeming jungle cat on a stout metal chain.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Inishuntuss (Part I)
Jo, Bo and Den were having the best day ever. Small as it may have been (from the low hollow on its easternmost point, even a small child could see the glimmer of sunlight play off the sea lapping on the western shore), the island seemed like an endless funhouse to them, ringed with warm, sandy beaches, hemmed on its northern end with gently swaying grassy thickets which gave way to a range of densely skirted hollows cool with the shade of friendly trees, crowned on its southern face with a mighty rolling hill that suddenly gave way to a stunning cliff face, bejewelled with flashing strokes of brilliant quartz-speckeled limestone.
But they didn't really set out with any intention on fixing mental boundaries over the place. After all, since the warm dry weather seemed pleased to oblige, they felt had any amount of leisure to playfully pad about. All morning and late into the afternoon they strolled, ran, trotted, sauntered, loped, rolled, sumersaulted and lept from place to place like spring-loaded toys, surprising themselves equally with their own folly as well as the island's own kindly maternal playfulness. Jo loved the way that, when Bo rounded one particular shady hillock in front of her and beckoned, the wall of ferny leaves muffled and deflected his voice so as to make it seem that Bo were calling from behind her, a million miles away and in the opposite direction. Den was charmed by the airy brightness of another tree-rimmed clearing that seemed dozens of yards round, but was, in fact, less than a dozen feet in circle--and that reminded him so with a gentle earthy kiss on the forehead when she walked into the hill face she thought had been empty space!
The Island's sense of fun was infectious. Once, spying Jo as he ambled lazily round the hill beneath her, Den stealthily shimmied along an overhanging tree and loosed a shower of loamy mud over Jo's head. Jo shrieked like a boiled banshee at the unexpected shivvery coldness of it. But Jo soon gave over to fits of hysterical laughter when she pelted Bo in the face with a gooshy glop of the stuff as Bo poked his head into the clearing to see what was all the fuss. Den couldn't resist either, and swung herself down from tree top and into the middle of the melee. The three furiously flung dollops of doughy mud at each other in turn, until the soreness of their laughing sides and swinging arms urged a truce.
Catching their breaths, they knelt down beside a clear fresh running stream to slake their thirsts. Then they calmed themselves and set to comparing notes.
But they didn't really set out with any intention on fixing mental boundaries over the place. After all, since the warm dry weather seemed pleased to oblige, they felt had any amount of leisure to playfully pad about. All morning and late into the afternoon they strolled, ran, trotted, sauntered, loped, rolled, sumersaulted and lept from place to place like spring-loaded toys, surprising themselves equally with their own folly as well as the island's own kindly maternal playfulness. Jo loved the way that, when Bo rounded one particular shady hillock in front of her and beckoned, the wall of ferny leaves muffled and deflected his voice so as to make it seem that Bo were calling from behind her, a million miles away and in the opposite direction. Den was charmed by the airy brightness of another tree-rimmed clearing that seemed dozens of yards round, but was, in fact, less than a dozen feet in circle--and that reminded him so with a gentle earthy kiss on the forehead when she walked into the hill face she thought had been empty space!
The Island's sense of fun was infectious. Once, spying Jo as he ambled lazily round the hill beneath her, Den stealthily shimmied along an overhanging tree and loosed a shower of loamy mud over Jo's head. Jo shrieked like a boiled banshee at the unexpected shivvery coldness of it. But Jo soon gave over to fits of hysterical laughter when she pelted Bo in the face with a gooshy glop of the stuff as Bo poked his head into the clearing to see what was all the fuss. Den couldn't resist either, and swung herself down from tree top and into the middle of the melee. The three furiously flung dollops of doughy mud at each other in turn, until the soreness of their laughing sides and swinging arms urged a truce.
Catching their breaths, they knelt down beside a clear fresh running stream to slake their thirsts. Then they calmed themselves and set to comparing notes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)