Amoryblaine
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Posts: 10
(6/27/02 5:55 am)
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Small writing
Something I wrote Sunday night... a friend of mine went to the beach and I couldn't go.
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English is so beautiful. It gets overlooked as languages go, something about Romantic languages triggering the aural unfamiliarity. Certain words match, as certain people match. The way shimmering and sea melt, or how long lost love trails is no accident. Give me a shack on Big Sur, and I can paint a memory. In remembrance, things become so much more fascinating than they are, yet certain things will be so much more majestic than a memory. The innumerable waves, sparkling like a million diamonds smashed and strewn across the sky, only to roll, smashing into the towering, jagged cliffs. You really should see it during sunset. There is something so serenely satisfying about a Big Sur sunset. When you catch the sun at just the right moment, like some incandescent, incompetent thief, stealing off into the night, you can see the cliffs emblazon into shimmering, golden bastions. Coronado searched most of his life for Cibola, but he must have been blind to miss the golden cliffs of Big Sur.
Ahh.... Juicy fruit |
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