Morning Aspect https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t1766 Runboard| Morning Aspect en-us Thu, 28 Mar 2024 10:02:43 +0000 Thu, 28 Mar 2024 10:02:43 +0000 https://www.runboard.com/ rssfeeds_managingeditor@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds managing editor) rssfeeds_webmaster@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds webmaster) akBBS 60 Re: Morning Aspecthttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p12149,from=rss#post12149https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p12149,from=rss#post12149Thank you, vkp, for reading and for registering a response. Your comments help me reassess. I tend to think it a slight prose poem, voice almost to slender to be heard. Maybe there is something here after all. Terenondisclosed_email@example.com (Terreson)Sun, 22 Apr 2012 20:25:06 +0000 Re: Morning Aspecthttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p12144,from=rss#post12144https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p12144,from=rss#post12144Thoughts at random: I have read this a few times now and sometimes the sadness comes, and sometimes not. It feels like a dream of recompense when one is utterly spent. The sun and moon sharing the skies has always been something that fascinates and captures me and I love how you write about it. The whole opening is what wrenches at the heart, and the devotion and heartbreak and memory and anticipated loss and the surrender. And then the lonely walk to the sea. And this: quote:I walked the beach the way I had when there was only the sand and ocean’s running feet to save my childhood’s life makes me want to cry. So yeah, I think this is really good because it makes me feel lots. nondisclosed_email@example.com (vkp)Sun, 22 Apr 2012 16:15:15 +0000 Morning Aspecthttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p11924,from=rss#post11924https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p11924,from=rss#post11924 Morning Aspect Morning’s light was finally coming, and the old lady had gone to bed. We somehow saw her through the hard-holding night, through the cheap wine, and through the bureau’s drawer that was always swollen with its pictures and papers of a closely lived lifetime. We had also seen her through that thinnest hour just before dawn when the cries of children and dispossessed Indians come swirling through this house of hers. Even the wind chimes hanging from the house’s four corners had not been able to dissuade them from coming in, and the screech owl nesting on the porch had long since surrendered this warning warble to them. We used every means possible to keep those voices from crawling over her, and from carrying her away. And when the wine, the memories, and the picture cards had all failed, we used each other. She turned her nervous need on us, tearing, scratching, and eating at our tenderest hearts, knowing that only then would she be able to sleep. And it must have worked again the way it always did. She must have found for herself the old sow’s peace. Before leaving the house this morning, I looked in on her and saw her resting that bird’s rest of hers that would carry her through the day. She had deeply given her due again. She could as deeply forget. Morning’s first light was coming at last, and I walked the beach the way I had when there was only the sand and ocean’s running feet to save my childhood’s life. And I found again the morning’s tide swelling the way it could just before the Sun King comes from behind the sea. I could also see that he was already coming nearer to the horizon’s cloudy seat carrying the weight of his rising. In the rosy colors of coral and red he would soon be hiding the sea’s treasures of the mystic blue. And in the half light’s confusion, he would soon be laughing at the way the white waves would hush themselves in breaking. So I followed the sky’s path rounding over, and I saw to where it led. It was leaning into the sky’s western quarter where the night’s shades still hung. They had not yet faded. From where the sky was translucent, it was tending back towards a midnight blue and soft forming. Where it was softly swaying in its own unreachable breeze, it took on the deeper shade of a nighttime fisherman’s blue. And in the furthest reaches of where the night was still ruling, I saw what the day’s majesty would never reach, even though he was pressing with all of his might. But I found her and she was still there, the round faced lady in her fulling moon. She was raised, white in her morning skirts, and she was still evenly breathing in the paling light. And she showed no concern for the one who was burning to meet her. She seemed to know that he could never catch her. She must have known, besides, that the coming tides of shimmering chance, the neap and flood of heartfelt circumstance, would always be hers anyway. Just then a scarlet ibis was coming over from out of her corner. And I was certain she had never told me before of her morning aspect. It’s when I saw how an older girl could carelessly rest in her arms, an old woman rocked to sleep in a young girl’s cradle. Terreson nondisclosed_email@example.com (Terreson)Sun, 15 Apr 2012 10:05:10 +0000