A few minutes in the life of leaves
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. freewrite and photos .
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by @d-pend
At dawn, the mild downpour slackened somewhat, but morning's light was slow to make an appearance. New leaves, lime-green, unfurled. Totally unaffected by the greediness of crows plotting to pilfer the crimson fruit of their mother, they explored with subtle wavering the still-dark air. It was motions like these that allowed the leaves to activate their newborn ears.
Across the avenue, past the iron fence painted black, feet shuffled. The leaves felt the agitation of strange creatures rushing from one place to another and listened to them muttering under their breath. A businessman, especially well-dressed, was thinking about his financial misfortunes in peculiarly audible way. The coarseness of the words seemed quite unbecoming to his appearance, thought the holly and the birch. The new leaves didn't think anything; they didn't know anything, but were likely to agree with their comrades.
The same man, his grey coat-flaps whirring, failed to see a younger woman in his warpath, and knocked the wooden box filled with fruit from her arms with an astonished grunt. "Terribly sorry," he kept repeating in variations, with the watery voice of one whose head is upside down. She said nothing, but looked at him accommodatingly, then reproachfully, in alternation — depending on whether he was meeting her eyes or not.
I would like to give this woman one of our berries, thought the new leaves, which was certainly a lime-green thing to think. Trees in the grove rustled in their equivalent of laughter. But of course, we were all naive once, said the poplar and the oak.
Across the avenue, past the iron fence painted black, feet shuffled. The leaves felt the agitation of strange creatures rushing from one place to another and listened to them muttering under their breath. A businessman, especially well-dressed, was thinking about his financial misfortunes in peculiarly audible way. The coarseness of the words seemed quite unbecoming to his appearance, thought the holly and the birch. The new leaves didn't think anything; they didn't know anything, but were likely to agree with their comrades.
The same man, his grey coat-flaps whirring, failed to see a younger woman in his warpath, and knocked the wooden box filled with fruit from her arms with an astonished grunt. "Terribly sorry," he kept repeating in variations, with the watery voice of one whose head is upside down. She said nothing, but looked at him accommodatingly, then reproachfully, in alternation — depending on whether he was meeting her eyes or not.
I would like to give this woman one of our berries, thought the new leaves, which was certainly a lime-green thing to think. Trees in the grove rustled in their equivalent of laughter. But of course, we were all naive once, said the poplar and the oak.
created for STEEM
March 12, 2020original content by @d-pend
Note
I find it always interesting to consider how we as individuals complete each other; for some writers, poetry is a challenge and prose a comfort. For me it is certainly the opposite. That isn't to say that I don't enjoy writing prose, simply that I have not practiced it nearly so much as I would like. As such, I have been endeavoring to consciously write something daily — some kind of vignette or momentary expression, at least — in the hopes that I will acquire gradually the courage to step up to short stories and even created worlds of novel-length.
I seem to have the proclivity to open up portals when I write; there is a desire to create crevices in my previous way of thinking and feeling, an optimism that this may open for me a deeper and richer world in which to live. Some of them appear to me with an immeasurable beauty, yet try as I might I cannot seem to open them to afford any more than the barest glimpse of what they contain. Others are occluded by apathy or angst. Still others, I cannot bear to look upon at all for fear of losing myself.
I seem to have the proclivity to open up portals when I write; there is a desire to create crevices in my previous way of thinking and feeling, an optimism that this may open for me a deeper and richer world in which to live. Some of them appear to me with an immeasurable beauty, yet try as I might I cannot seem to open them to afford any more than the barest glimpse of what they contain. Others are occluded by apathy or angst. Still others, I cannot bear to look upon at all for fear of losing myself.
Really cool contrast of the black and white photo with the color photo of leaves,
Btw, absolutely have no doubt you can write effective prose and a novel type writing
Thanks for the comment and encouragement @robertandrew! !engage 10
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I love this! There is so much poetry going on in what seems to be a story of a magical instant of something so crudely ordinary as a stumble among humans that unravels several common ills of these times: walking like automatons without appreciating the beauty that surrounds everything, the self-absorption in problems, the not seeing oneself face to face, the indifference and ignorance of the other. And the voice comes from the plants, not from the humans who only mumble. A point of view devoid of negative judgment, it feels more like a shared responsibility when joking about:
Great line!
and this:#loveit
De ja vous - I swear I saw this before and said it reminds me of Whispering Grass by the Ink Spots. And in the post I read just before this one, a line leaped out at me as familiar: "tired of mosquitoes waiting for a feast"and the hero's path has just begun - it could be coincidence, or my eyes have glazed over, or my memory fails me. In any case, it's de ja vous when I read today.
Thanks for your reading and commentary @carolkean! !engage 25
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@porters here on behalf of @NaturalMedicine - Lovely photos, always good to see the greening leaves and the prose to go with it! I like how you are stretching your creativity to open new fields! thanks for sharing!
Thanks a lot for the support @porters! Trying to get the most out of spring, even with all the craziness going on :-) !engage 25
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Very creative piece. First of all, the perspective is quite unusual because the world seen through the leaves. Second, the details are revealed in an exquisite form that ground the scenes in a timeless moment. Finally, the photographs make the work come alive in my mind. I also like the size of the piece. Short and sweet. For the life of me, I can't read stuff online that is pages long. Nicely done @d-pend
Good post
What did you like about it that makes it good? :-P
The post, the whole post :)))
The whole thing just... exudes goodness!
You and your details, mister!
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!engage 5
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