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Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am,
by what devious means do you contrive
to remian idle? Teach me, O master.
-- William Carlos Williams
Showing posts with label idling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label idling. Show all posts
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Week in Seven Words #19
bled
For a moment I think the cream-colored wall has shed blood. But it's a cardinal, swooping down from the roof in one liquid red glide.
blurry
It's an inarticulate day; rain is slurring down the windows.
marionettes
Out on the sunny lawn they grunt and kick high, their fists held close to their chests. Every few kicks they rotate a fraction, their legs jerking up.
poised
There it is, a suitcase by the door, a backpack beside it, both waiting for early morning.
rainstick
I imagine that the sound of wasted time, of hours pouring away with little to show for their passing, is that of a rainstick - a slippery, hollow sort of sound, mildly pleasant and lulling.
squirrels
It's an afternoon of squirrels. They rear up, vigilant and still, in patches of tall grass or clumps of broad green leaves. They drape themselves on the backs of benches or pick furiously at fast food and candy wrappers. One of them twitches in fright when a butterfly lands on its tail; it goes leaping across the grass, body bristling.
tectonic
Tectonic tensions underlie his life. On the one hand, he is rooted in and nourished by beliefs and practices that are centuries-old; on the other, he craves the latest thrills, wants to seek the newest trend-setting city or neighborhood and insinuate himself into its rhythm and life.
For a moment I think the cream-colored wall has shed blood. But it's a cardinal, swooping down from the roof in one liquid red glide.
blurry
It's an inarticulate day; rain is slurring down the windows.
marionettes
Out on the sunny lawn they grunt and kick high, their fists held close to their chests. Every few kicks they rotate a fraction, their legs jerking up.
poised
There it is, a suitcase by the door, a backpack beside it, both waiting for early morning.
rainstick
I imagine that the sound of wasted time, of hours pouring away with little to show for their passing, is that of a rainstick - a slippery, hollow sort of sound, mildly pleasant and lulling.
squirrels
It's an afternoon of squirrels. They rear up, vigilant and still, in patches of tall grass or clumps of broad green leaves. They drape themselves on the backs of benches or pick furiously at fast food and candy wrappers. One of them twitches in fright when a butterfly lands on its tail; it goes leaping across the grass, body bristling.
tectonic
Tectonic tensions underlie his life. On the one hand, he is rooted in and nourished by beliefs and practices that are centuries-old; on the other, he craves the latest thrills, wants to seek the newest trend-setting city or neighborhood and insinuate himself into its rhythm and life.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Week in Seven Words #12
blotchy
Outside the bookstore an academic journal lies half-propped against the curb, its cover grazing the tires of a parked car. The pages are swollen with rain, and certain words glisten in deep black.
buoyancy
Candles, silver, grapes, iced cakes, jellybeans, and chickpeas. We pack into the dining room and pass around drinks ("l'chaim, l'chaim"). As the newborn sleeps upstairs, his great-uncle talks to the guests about the tremendous potential we each have in life to do good.
hi
Her email is a golden droplet. "Hi" is the only word she writes, and I understand the tentative hopeful tone (the question mark that follows); the last time I heard from her was two years ago. But for the moment nothing else needs to be said.
retreat
Different ways to dig in one's heels against demands, responsibilities, the press of time. One person watches clips from Beatles concerts, marvels at the music and how wild the crowds were. Another oversleeps, and at dinner takes pleasure slowly eating slices of beet from a plastic cup. A third slips into computer games as a warrior with esoteric skills.
treat
On top of the pink-frosted cupcake sits a strawberry that was dipped in dark chocolate. As I peel the strawberry off, some frosting clings to it in small pink splodges. My first bite is a burst of fruit, bittersweet chocolate, and hyper-sugary pink.
unease
Dark stairwells lead down to doors we can't see. Windows are boarded, black plastic bags slither along the sidewalk, and at the street corner in a warehouse some bright lights flicker and machines hum. Of the houses, one front stoop seems welcoming, with fairy lights, wind chimes, and a fold-out chair (we wonder who lives in that house, and if they ever sit out on the stoop this late, when the street is eerie and nearly deserted).
welcome
We're jigsaw puzzle pieces, curiously shaped, and we prefer not to lock ourselves rigidly in place; once a jigsaw puzzle is put together there's no room for any new pieces. What we like is to laugh and talk and scuffle in the box, and welcome anyone who wants to hop in.
Outside the bookstore an academic journal lies half-propped against the curb, its cover grazing the tires of a parked car. The pages are swollen with rain, and certain words glisten in deep black.
buoyancy
Candles, silver, grapes, iced cakes, jellybeans, and chickpeas. We pack into the dining room and pass around drinks ("l'chaim, l'chaim"). As the newborn sleeps upstairs, his great-uncle talks to the guests about the tremendous potential we each have in life to do good.
hi
Her email is a golden droplet. "Hi" is the only word she writes, and I understand the tentative hopeful tone (the question mark that follows); the last time I heard from her was two years ago. But for the moment nothing else needs to be said.
retreat
Different ways to dig in one's heels against demands, responsibilities, the press of time. One person watches clips from Beatles concerts, marvels at the music and how wild the crowds were. Another oversleeps, and at dinner takes pleasure slowly eating slices of beet from a plastic cup. A third slips into computer games as a warrior with esoteric skills.
treat
On top of the pink-frosted cupcake sits a strawberry that was dipped in dark chocolate. As I peel the strawberry off, some frosting clings to it in small pink splodges. My first bite is a burst of fruit, bittersweet chocolate, and hyper-sugary pink.
unease
Dark stairwells lead down to doors we can't see. Windows are boarded, black plastic bags slither along the sidewalk, and at the street corner in a warehouse some bright lights flicker and machines hum. Of the houses, one front stoop seems welcoming, with fairy lights, wind chimes, and a fold-out chair (we wonder who lives in that house, and if they ever sit out on the stoop this late, when the street is eerie and nearly deserted).
welcome
We're jigsaw puzzle pieces, curiously shaped, and we prefer not to lock ourselves rigidly in place; once a jigsaw puzzle is put together there's no room for any new pieces. What we like is to laugh and talk and scuffle in the box, and welcome anyone who wants to hop in.
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