~ Robert William Service, Dark Pine
A month had limped past, riddled with old fears, some long known regrets and new hopes. The most confusing concoction of emotions. And yet... She could still smell the pines in her sleep. That moist, earthy smell with a teasing tinge of longing. Laced like strings of raw emeralds, they dazzled on the rugged neck of the mountains. That gouging, blinding green; the colour of her dreams. Those towering torchbearers that once paved her path and danced to her moods. The feathered, faithful, forever evergreens!
Their brooding darkness called out to her, in wails and bawls. That which was foreign and lost felt hers, in a strange, protective way. That which was left far, far behind felt more alive than the current, ticking second. One of the many ironies of life. And the foreignness lingers on.
Hello Suman:
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderfully evocative piece of writing containing as it does some exceptional imagery. We particularly have enjoyed 'Laced like strings of raw emeralds...' and the sensitive alliteration of the letter 'f' which brings to a close the first paragraph.
Hello Jane and Lance, I'm so glad you liked the piece. Your kind words keep me going, despite all odds of moving and building a new home.
DeleteDear Suman. This post is a real piece of poetry! So beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMerci beaucoup, dear Celine. To say this is poetry, really flatters me. Thank you, indeed!
DeleteBeautiful.
ReplyDeleteSo often your posts speak to something deep or nearly forgotten in me. We've lived here for 15 years, but your expression of longing took me right back to our years of being expats and the return home and longing for the foreign home.
I was just going through my old posts and realised I hadn't replied you on this one. Well, thank you so much for the lovely words. I am glad this post brought back so many fond memories.
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