summer.
the time of year where the sun beats mercilessly upon the hard, baked earth of the scorching desert otherwise known as utah. at the crack of dawn, the crisp, cool air of the early morning quickly evaporates and warms as the haven of night is replaced by that cruel, glowing orb. the lazy days then drag on as the sun meanders on its path across the sky, taunting as it alights on the mountain peaks. its light lingers, reaching from the horizon, fighting to keep its dominion upon the land. it radiates its final flames and sets the sky ablaze. then, as it loosens its grip, its hold fails altogether and the fiery globe slips below the horizon.
the glow past the mountains fades and the clouds lose their golden and pink colors, returning to their natural ashen shades. then the world dims, giving way to night. with the harsh sunlight gone, stars begin to wink into existence, transforming the sky into the wondrous, glistening surface of the world.
the moon rises from its throne at the crest of the mountains, casting luminous magic across the valley. it begins its elegant dance across the sea of glittering diamonds, twirling through the sky with grace.
but the release of it charm is short-lived. night must end; the sunrise is imminent. but with the transition of darkness to light, the new sun brings with it another enchanting era. the world begins to flare with color, mimicking the deep hues of sunset. the time of year the cool air does not fade with the rising sun.
autumn
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
echoes
as dawn grew into early morning, i woke. i had been wrenched from my fountain only a few hours earlier and i was eager to return, if only to complete the half-finished thoughts that had been left drifting between the spaces in my mind and reality.
but as i sat to work the simple magic i have been fortunate enough to wield, i found that the plentiful notions that had spilled from me just six hours before had somehow run dry. i tried with all my might but for all my effort, the only results were flat, lacking in life. in the coming hours, they became more shapely, but while they were pleasing they still fell short of the glory of my work from the previous night.
so to see that my sister, a magnificent writer in most all regards, had created the most extrodinary poetry in a seemingly effortless manner, was difficult to handle. however i failed to prevent myself from envying her the ease of the creation of something so spectacular. and somehow that which my sister and so many others--friends and strangers alike-- seem to intuitively grasp will always be just beyond my reaching fingers.
and perhaps it is this jealousy that sets the tone of my writing, that taints it. and this tenor is what is off-putting; the morning glory in my fields of prose.
but even so, i write, in the hope that somehow, someday, i'll reach that peak of magnificence and perhaps make some sort of mark in the world
but as i sat to work the simple magic i have been fortunate enough to wield, i found that the plentiful notions that had spilled from me just six hours before had somehow run dry. i tried with all my might but for all my effort, the only results were flat, lacking in life. in the coming hours, they became more shapely, but while they were pleasing they still fell short of the glory of my work from the previous night.
so to see that my sister, a magnificent writer in most all regards, had created the most extrodinary poetry in a seemingly effortless manner, was difficult to handle. however i failed to prevent myself from envying her the ease of the creation of something so spectacular. and somehow that which my sister and so many others--friends and strangers alike-- seem to intuitively grasp will always be just beyond my reaching fingers.
and perhaps it is this jealousy that sets the tone of my writing, that taints it. and this tenor is what is off-putting; the morning glory in my fields of prose.
but even so, i write, in the hope that somehow, someday, i'll reach that peak of magnificence and perhaps make some sort of mark in the world
Sunday, July 4, 2010
a beginning
the first breath in a strange world.
i admit, i was uncertain of my decision to bring to life a blog of my own. but it seems a good a place as any to gripe, somewhere to voice my opinions, creating a fountain of complaint, of criticism. but also, a place for ideas to grow, development in a manner that could never be achieved elsewhere. and perhaps to leave whatever possible mark i can in the world. to etch my name in a clumsy scrawl among a sea of others, to be lost in the waves of eternity.
at times, i am given a glimpse of my writing. a view where it holds some sort of enchantment, even bordering on magnificence. but then i am drawn from the clouds, a slow descent to earth. and, in a new light, i see how fruitless my attempts at brilliance truly are. my words, in contrast with so many others, seem hollow. each idea is muted, tainted, perhaps, by my subconscious sense of inadequacy.
but i put aside my evident faults. unshaken by the biting remarks of the world, i press forward. i can only hope that, in the process, i might uncover but a single line of poetry in my mountains of prose.
i remain undecided. the wisdom of my creation is questionable and i am hesitant to continue my contribution to the rise of objections on this earth. but the lure of unbridled expression, unaffected by jaded or biased annotations, is far too great a temptation.
i admit, i was uncertain of my decision to bring to life a blog of my own. but it seems a good a place as any to gripe, somewhere to voice my opinions, creating a fountain of complaint, of criticism. but also, a place for ideas to grow, development in a manner that could never be achieved elsewhere. and perhaps to leave whatever possible mark i can in the world. to etch my name in a clumsy scrawl among a sea of others, to be lost in the waves of eternity.
at times, i am given a glimpse of my writing. a view where it holds some sort of enchantment, even bordering on magnificence. but then i am drawn from the clouds, a slow descent to earth. and, in a new light, i see how fruitless my attempts at brilliance truly are. my words, in contrast with so many others, seem hollow. each idea is muted, tainted, perhaps, by my subconscious sense of inadequacy.
but i put aside my evident faults. unshaken by the biting remarks of the world, i press forward. i can only hope that, in the process, i might uncover but a single line of poetry in my mountains of prose.
i remain undecided. the wisdom of my creation is questionable and i am hesitant to continue my contribution to the rise of objections on this earth. but the lure of unbridled expression, unaffected by jaded or biased annotations, is far too great a temptation.
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