tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5055598777203654547.post8040607976917880061..comments2024-03-01T06:20:29.087+00:00Comments on qualia and other wildlife: 100 words from les cévennesrosellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00971482422276765335noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5055598777203654547.post-74832847424848648312014-08-25T14:59:55.290+01:002014-08-25T14:59:55.290+01:00Miriam - thank you. Delighted to post it! I'm ...Miriam - thank you. Delighted to post it! I'm not worrying with my own pieces any longer whether they're prose poems or prose or poetry - or - what??<br /><br />It's been really changeable here all summer, but today and yesterday have been hot enough to eye the waterfall pool (and decide the water will be too cool).<br /><br />Shall post that along with Bea's 100 from the village recently.<br /><br />With love<br /><br />Rosellerosellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00971482422276765335noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5055598777203654547.post-37958195661366040532014-08-25T08:25:56.247+01:002014-08-25T08:25:56.247+01:00Roselle: was so inspired by your Cevennes 100 that...Roselle: was so inspired by your Cevennes 100 that I produced one (see below and it is 100 if you ignore the title) after a lightning visit from a dear niece – my brother's youngest – and family. You may not want to post it – it's uninvited after all! – but see what you do? Inspire; and as always, it's like sorbet to my other writing. This could become a daily compulsion! Must aim to continue. (I wonder if my 100 is more prose than proem?)<br />Thanks and enjoy Cevennes and the not-quite-autumn weather, no doubt?<br />Love, Miriam.<br /><br />100 from home: 24.8.14<br /><br />They’re here, like a squall in the green-gold evening though the wind tiptoes. <br />A niece, calm and beautiful, her graceful moves belying irritation – her husband a driving hailstorm of assertion; their one-year-old toddling, reaching bare-foot for the world beyond our windows. They leave after a disturbed night. Now, the wind holds its breath, as if sensing the caul of exhaustion in late-summer cool, light still gold.<br />Seventy-one years ago today my parents married. Too late for this third generation, their shadows weave contented abandonment through the trees containing our haven. This year, autumn’s early.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com