Such a unique monument. It captivated me the moment I saw it. The disconcerting hand. The way it leans on heaving ground.
Since nothing more than "Mary, Daughter of..." is readable, I decided to share this image a bit differently. I cleared my head, then composed a flash fiction piece stream-of-consciousness style. It's nothing more, or less, than what crept into my head as I stared at the picture.
No rules. No hard connection. No coherence. Just my thoughts. And a scene.
* * * * *
I walk the hallways. Smelling the linseed oil, the dark paneling. It boxes my thoughts more than the light. The paneling is hungry. Always hungry. Rolling shapes in mahogany. The shapes weave night blankets from threads of day.
The weathervane turns. A rusty groan with a shifting wind. The afternoon moods are boiling, erupting in the sky.
Rumbles travel the walls like thoughts. Storms are coming. Twirling seeds peck the windows. Tears of the Maples.
Wind. The weathervane decides, then changes.
A gust presses the house. Windows rattle in loose panes. The walls complain. But quietly.
Then, the pattering. Slow. Teasing.
Becomes large and slapping.
The heavens bow, and all streaks down. The glass sheets. Outside greens bleed into more greens.
And no one can see them but me.
17 comments:
Jason. You. Are. Just. So. GOOD.
It's really amazing how the brain can take an image and create thoughts seemingly unrelated. Everything is connected somehow. Good job, again!
I like how you go somewhere else. You have a gift.
A disconcerting image indeed. Wonderful writing though!
I don't believe it. Is it going to let me leave one. I have been trying and trying.
Unique stone and unique writing. That is one of the things that keeps me coming back here Jason.
Keep your fingers crossed, I am getting ready to put in the word verification. If you see this comment throw some water on me cause I am going to pass out if it leaves it. LOL :)
that stone is great! i love it!
some absolutely wonderful descriptions, jason.
Sorry, everyone! I would've been responding sooner, but as we all know, Blogger has been a disaster. :(
Forgottenmachine, that's a great observation. I did feel the need to restrain and direct the prose just enough to be coherent. True stream-of-consciousness would probably be a fog to anyone other than the writer. ** BTW, great to see you back!
Jackt, I'd like to spend more! When I do go, I'll get around 20 pictures of interesting stones to use over time.
Bernita, thank you. :) Precious little comments like that are stored away when the doubts are raining on me.
Flood, thanks! I think something about the angles of the stone and the shadows on the pointing hand evoked the scene in my brain.
Scott, I wish I could go more often. Thanks for the kind words. =)
Terri, eerie, isn't it? I know the symbolism is supposed to refer to the soul's rise to heaven, but it just seems wrong somehow.
Beady, I appreciate the effort!! God, today was a nightmare. I got shut out of everything too. Somehow I managed to leave a comment on Bernita's blog, but that was it. ** Thanks for the kind words. You're an important part of why I do this. :)
Anne, I could imagine that stone in Tuonela's cemetery! (Reader note: that's the chilling, abandoned town in Anne's upocming book, Pale Immortal--link to the right.) ** Thanks so much for the feedback!
Very compelling stone, Jason! And a great flash! =D
I don't know what it is about me, but I laughed when I so the headstone, sorry. Maybe it's my none-too-serious attitude of mine, and I really do apologize to anyone offended by me.
Jason, that was a great piece of stream-flash. Almost read like poetry. It was stuck in that strange land that's in between prose and poetry and I loved that.
I found most interesting to see the way you work and get your ideas.
Kel, thanks for stopping by during the Great Blogger Depression!
Melly, no worries! Now that you mention it, the hand does seem a little like someone hailing a cab. ** A strange land between prose and poetry...what a great description! That's something I try to bring to my writing.
I like these lines, Jason.
"The walls complained. But quietly."
I have seen monuments like these leaning from the heaving ground. I find them fascinating, but also disturbing.
I love the hand. It's like it is pointing- I would like to go there. Yes up. That is the direction.
Jeff, cemeteries should be a static, unchanging place. Having the monuments move just doesn't sit right (not pun intended).
Eileen, let's hope she followed it. ;)
Like always, your word pictures allure me and take over my senses.
Sigh. When would I be able to write like this?
Keep these paintings coming, Jason.
Sury, thanks for the compliment! Your writing has a sparkle to it, a wonderful purity.
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