Word Pictures

[TW]

I love language. I love the way that you can “paint” word pictures in the minds of those that read what you write.

The Lagoon

The waters of the lagoon have changed their very character within the last few hours. Earlier today the water was almost a glass smooth sheet of blue-green. So calm that any motion caused by the wavelets would be almost imperceptible as they lapped against the seawall and jetty. The sky had been cobalt blue with an occasional puffy white cloud floating by. The silence broken only by the cry of the sea birds as they circled overhead scanning the waters for their next meal. However, in nature, all things must change. This day is no exception. A strong squall line approaches from off-shore bring change to the lagoon. The sky has grown dark with angry gray storm clouds. Lighting splits the sky, and after a period of time the roll of thunder can be heard. The storm has not arrived yet, however the lagoon is changed. The water is dark, whipped into a chop with white caps topping the waves, driven by the stiff winds. No longer is there the gentle lapping of wavelets. Gone, replaced by waves that slam into the sea wall. Where these waves strike the rocks of the jetty they send plumes of water into the air, to be carried on to the land by the wind. The birds have retreated to their nest to shelter during the storm, and their cries have been replaced with the howl of the wind.


My challenge to you is that you pick a subject, “paint” a word picture, let that picture show me how you see things. Come on, give it a try.


TW

[RamboPreacher]

i am not Dean Koontz, so I fail.

[Susie Hamilton]

My black lab ate a brown dog biscuit and walked out the white door to sleep in the green grass in the sunshine.

[sweetpea]

A black cloud was hovering over the earth,hours before all you could see were beautiful blue skies and white fluffy clouds. The wind was blowing so hard I could see the green leaves being stripped off the trees.All the beautiful flowers in the yard were being destroyed.My yard looked like a box of crayons had been emptied into it,I saw my beautiful red rose bush,purple irises,yellow daffodils and white crepe myrtle bush ,they had all been stripped of their blooms.
The house was so stained and dirty,I could not tell if it was black or white.

Just as soon as the cloud came in,it was gone. I looked up to heaven to thank God for my life and I saw the most beautiful thing of all,there in the blue sky with the yellow sun and fluffy white clouds was the most beautiful colors of all.I saw the most beautiful rainbow ,and I knew God was still keeping His promise.

[TW]

A black cloud was hovering over the earth,hours before all you could see were beautiful blue skies and white fluffy clouds. The wind was blowing so hard I could see the green leaves being stripped off the trees.All the beautiful flowers in the yard were being destroyed.My yard looked like a box of crayons had been emptied into it,I saw my beautiful red rose bush,purple irises,yellow daffodils and white crepe myrtle bush ,they had all been stripped of their blooms.
The house was so stained and dirty,I could not tell if it was black or white.

Just as soon as the cloud came in,it was gone. I looked up to heaven to thank God for my life and I saw the most beautiful thing of all,there in the blue sky with the yellow sun and fluffy white clouds was the most beautiful colors of all.I saw the most beautiful rainbow ,and I knew God was still keeping His promise.

Yes sweetpea! That's what I'm talking about. Rahab, I know that you can do much better than that! Remember you've told me all about what you studied in college. Rambo, I'm glad your not Dean Koontz, I don't particularly care for his writings, but I like you. I have read enough of your work, both on here (J2) and your blog to know that you are quite capable of using language. You haven't failed unless you fail to try.


TW

[RamboPreacher]

okily dokily - off the top of me noggin and just before I go to bed.

tranquility

The apple blossoms on the gnarly old tree were white and pink as the wind wisped through the bows. Next to the leaves of the ever-darker crabgrass in the hand-made lounge was where the table came around the tree and held the iced lemonade. It curved around the trunk as though it was built in bending and shapes of the large trunk of the aged plant. Though it was actually the time spent in the ever-changing Iowa weather and the lack of use that the table became part of the living gnarlness, and seeing that a part of its top surface was in the trunk as if a tornadic wind whipped it into place.

In the midst of the seeming turmoil of the table and my glass of the fresh lemonade within and without of the base of the tree; the blossoms, oh the blossoms of the tree were moving, and flowing with the whispering wind. Ever so slightly and every random once in a moment a few petals of the dainty blooms would shed from their place and move in that wind, as if plucked my choice and with perception of necessity. Appearance of randomness until the concentrated heart pondered the flowers and their flowing.

The patterns of beauty became amazingly clear and crisp, the calming effect of the creation and necessity of the singleness of the petal: The wonder and fragrance of the whole, though not found in the single, the beauty and serene contemplation of the community of the whole tree. Not an apple tree, but a place in which a table and a petal with wind and without are blessed. Perception, reality, perceived reality, a shadow in a cave are all neglected as the petal floats from the stream of the whispering wind and lands on a knothole in the table, only to be lifted back up by unseen forces and left for never known places.

The leaves of grass are bowing and not breaking. Some, not all. The leaves of grass spring and flow as if they had consciousness to not resist the unseen wind. The leaves of grass becoming waves of the ocean in the patterns of the random changes in the wind blowing. Once again the community of the leaves of grass in beauteous and harmonious resonance with the individual leaf. Standing, sitting, laying, observing, imagining, becoming.

[rjc]

As I stand at the end of our front walk and look far down the road I see a hazy figure coming out of the steam rising from the hot streets. I can feel the excitement building inside me. The figure comes closer and I watch his stooped and plodding walk, his black lunch pail at his side. I see his sweat stained tan work clothes and heavy brown work boots. He looks as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders. As he comes closer, he looks up and sees me and I see his smile begin to race across his sunburned face. His brilliant blue eyes begin to twinkle and he stands straighter and I hear his lovely tenor voice begin to sing “Will ye go lassie, go”. I can hardly stand still, he is almost here, then he holds out his strong work-harden hand for mine, Daddy is home.

[soulsearcher]

A country road winds through deep green, soft yellow and bright pink. The sky of gold, purple and orange is melting as you lean your head against the rear right window of a 1951 Buick Special, also deep green. You grasp the knob of the window crank and roll the window down ever so slightly and a breeze of honeysuckle touches your face. "Blue on blue... heartache on heartache... blue on blue... now that we are through... " a young man's voice sings on the radio.

The car begins to slow down. Slower, slower, and then you see it just ahead, on the right-hand side of the road. A white house with black shutters. Its covered front porch is the width of the house and has a swing. The shaded yard rolls from the front porch to the road.

Your mother turns the car right and follows the dirt and gravel drive to the side of the house where metal lawn chairs painted yellow and white reside with a matching glider. You exit the vehicle and begin to walk, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet. Clusters of of red roses hug the brick fireplace alongside the house. A bumblebee zig-zags over the lawn, causing you to remember the last time you were here... when you and your sister sat in the yard making necklaces of clover.

The sound of a screen door snaps and then there she is, standing on edge of the back porch, smiling and wiping her hands dry on her apron. Grandmother.

[JanB]

WOW! I hang with some mighty talented folk.

[rjc]

Here is #2

It was a dark and damp night, the fog came creeping toward her from the banks of the river. She pulled her cloak closer trying to hold out the damp, icy wind, it wasn’t far now. She stopped briefly under the street light, her auburn hair blowing around her face as she looked over her shoulder. Maybe she would make it to her 3rd floor flat without seeing “It” tonight. “Don’t think about it”, she told herself, “it is too horrible”. Slowly she stepped off the curb, a second step, then a third; she could feel eyes watching her. Her skin began to crawl, goose bumps rose on her arms; she could feel the eyes boring into her back. Slowly she turned and raised her eyes from the street. Oh no! Not again! It is back, she can’t look any longer. She jerks her eyes away from the dreaded………….. Floating Head!

[TW]

Feeling a little mean spirited tonight?


TW

p.s. Good picture.

[TW]

OK here's another one:

The Rain

The hot breeze lifted swirls of powdery dust from the parched earth. The grasses that had once covered a lush meadow had long ago been grazed off by the herd. The exposed soil, depleted of all moisture by an unrelenting sun, had baked rock hard. The lack of moisture caused the dirt to shrink, fracturing into millions of fragments covering the valley floor. The stream that once fed this meadow was now no more than a rock strewn gulley. No trace of water had flowed down this course in months. At the lower end of the valley a fetid pool supplied the only water available. The ground around the shrinking pond gave evidence of these last days. The bones of dead animals littered the ground, the few that still lived were little more than walking skeletons. Their hides hung limply from their bodies as they search among the dirt clods for the few remaining blades of grass. A young boy, perhaps ten years of age, stood guard over what was left of the herd. Rail thin, his staff seemed as much a part of him as did his own arms and legs. Nearby his mother tended to a scant garden located next to their hovel. It barely provided enough to keep them alive. She worried about what would happen when the pool finally dried up. As she scrabbled in the dirt of the garden she thought of her husband. He had left days ago, driving the healthiest of the cattle to market. Hopefully none would die on the trail, and he would be able to sell them for enough to purchase the supplies that they so desperately needed.

The boy had watched the gathering clouds on the horizon all morning. He held to a hope that the drought would come to an end, that they would get the life giving rain. Yet he still hesitated, he had seen this many times before. The clouds would build, but not come their way. Then he saw it! A dark gray wall approaching, stirring up the dust in front of it. He called to his mother, and together they watched as the rain swept toward them. The first few drops stung like points of fire when they hit his skin, but he didn’t care. It was raining, that was all that mattered.



TW

[rjc]

Feeling a little mean spirited tonight?


TW

p.s. Good picture.

I think Teddy The Terrible is rubbing off on me.

[TW]

Feeling a little mean spirited tonight?


TW

p.s. Good picture.

I think Teddy The Terrible is rubbing off on me.

Don't even go there! I know you all to well for that con to work on me.


TW