Words in Winter

 

Words In Winter Celebrations 2008

1 - 31 Aug 2008

 Take 2 (thank you keef)

 

Pregnant bellies are so evident all about town more than ever, looking radiant, I wonder, do they swell at this time of year, extra, as if coddling triplets, or at least twins? Filled fuller with local hopes, the trickling springs recharging, recharging, as we dream by fires, our words of winter.  

Watery fingers are busy seeping disrobing the trees down to soft pink blushing skins, right before mainly blinded eyes, Look up, their limbs and arms interlock and shimmer scarlet, no attentions payed to their wraps hanging   free  about the base of their trunks, and how they blossom almost inconsequently.

Somewhat of an orgy is going on about these parts, natures serenaded by the arts. Crazy crazy with the words of winter, that we would build a fire so big it melts the misty rain almost chilled to dry papery crystals, and we shelter our backs with more layers of wool than any local sheep. Strike chords and sing till warm to the core, gifting voice to voice as if making love with the exchanges, deep, sultry, heavenly pitched, and ohh yes yes so meaningful. Spoken word in deliverance, scented with cloves and smoke and moss, released dangling off chords floated on harmonies.

As all the lights go out and wine glasses sit smudged and empty and lemon and honey sits still lingering on now quiet lips, I want you to know as the candles are all blown out, and the fire flickers gentle with resting ambience. No matter how beautiful this town seems for all the words of winter bought here to rest till spring, no matter how many artists fill the street and all the cafes.. I just know, it could be just that little bit of something more magical, just that little more, and one day all the art with heart will sigh in unison all the words of winter and I’ll be left feeling somewhat complete, and I will know without doubt I’m home.   

 

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http://www.hepburnshire.com.au/Calendar/calendar.asp

 

Reviews

[Nan]

You are so lyric as to make prose sound like free verse. I don't get hung
in the paragraph form, no, this is poetry. It has internal rhyme and sings
like music all along.

This is a scene so perfectly painted that it occurs as paradise.
I like how you retrace the steps of time and leave us in the moment
of repose, the description of honeyed lips and wine glasses is superb.
I love being invited into your imagination, thanks for the ride, Di.
and I checked the website- is this where you live?

Hold on, I'll have a ticket in a few months, just a visit, but it sounds
wonderful.

[Bluet_Belle]

I could hear that, in my head, and i wish i could write music. Its so lyrical and beautifully phrased, again LOVE THE IMAGERY!!! Its hard for me to read things that i cant invision, i guess its one of those quirks, like un-necessary repetition of words, its just grates me when something is bland and two dimensional.

But this

This, has heart, and soul, and colour, and sound, and scent and texture and taste.

It tickles the senses:P

i LOVE it:)

[Emily B]

This is lovely. I was struck back remembering and realized sheepishly that my 90 degree humidity is your wool-wearing season. I knew that. I did stroll back through that whole pregnant belly thing momentarily. I still carry around the remains of it. Your words make we want to float through seasons, in and out of time, carried away on the wisp of a memory.