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The previous two weeks of upper atmospheric tumult had produced a lusty sweet tartness to the precipitous landscape, one scene rimed with the next minute, as the sun slowly lowered shades and released spirits. The now razed heavens revealed a hitherto undiscovered hue engendering tears of praise.
Below the random-regular tree line of swirled and twisted pine, the glory of the third season revealed the littered weave of windfall. A citrine daub and glitter of aspen lent sharp edges to lodge pole and ponderosa pine. Occasional shivers prompted groups of upper aspen branches to flip their abundant leafy coin murmuring amongst themselves, “heads or tails, heads or tails…”while beneath the canopy, indifferent brooks poured champagne from a never ending glacial cellar.
But this was not a place where ears have dominion. This was God’s parlor of a unique and golden silence. Birds, yes, but their twitter-tweet and the scurried chip of Rocky Mountain squirrels was eclipsed by the shear inner sanctum – the hushed reverence and might of creation.
A grassy knoll of intermediate elevation overlooked the fertile valley, carpeted with amber waves of grain, it displayed a dappled sea of golden blonde dancing to an undulating cloud-filtered spotlight.
It was 1849, it was Sunday, and the knoll produced narrative from a lowered man to an elevated woman,
“How beautiful are your feet in sandals, O prince’s daughter! The curves of your thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a skillful workman. Your navel is a rounded goblet; it lacks no blended beverage. Your waist is a heap of wheat set about with lilies. Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle. Your neck is like an ivory tower, your eyes like the pools in Heshbon by the gate of Bath Rabbim. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon which looks toward Damascus. Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel, and the hair of your head is like purple; A king is held captive by your tresses. How fair and how pleasant you are, love, with your delights!"
"This stature of yours is like a palm tree, and your breasts like its clusters. I said, ‘I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of its branches.’ Let now your breasts be like clusters of the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and the roof of your mouth like the best wine. The wine goes down smoothly for my beloved, moving gently the lips of sleepers. I am my beloved’s, and your desire is toward me. Come, my beloved, let us go forth to the field; Let us lodge in the villages. Let us get up early to the vineyards; Let us see if the vine has budded, whether the grape blossoms are open, and the pomegranates are in bloom. There I will give you my love.”
The two strolled slowly back to the covered wagon hand in hand. California for one brief moment in the long tiring journey was no longer within their eyes. He had chosen the sexiest book, the Song of Solomon, the seventh chapter;
seven - the number of Biblical perfection.
~~~
Author notes
~~~
Inspired in part, by a small but wonderfully enthralling book, "A Frontier Lady - Recolections of the Gold Rush and Early California" by Sarah Royce
A real life diary written by a frontier woman - as exciting as any fictional western.
In a list
A contest entry
- Prose II Let's Do It Again by Dalaney.
900 points, ended September 26, 2008, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Your long quote is pure poetry, and the paragraph after it gives it perspective. The first paragraph is full of adjectives, describing and re-describing what could be said more simply, if I were writing it. That said, I did like the location and the action, a loving moment in a transition to a new life. It's hard to know what people want when they ask for prose, this is a good short piece. Congratulations for HM.
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Thank you Sandal. I have wondered exactly what prose is and haven't come across anything but a nebulous definition so I don't really worry about it much.
What I was trying to do here was to emphasize the "God" or spiritual element within the relationship. To do that, I thought I'd use a number of adjectives, since prose, I'm assuming, isn't as restrictive of the use of them, to really nail the natural beauty around the subjects - or the beauty as from the eyes of two pioneers in love. Having said that, there is something that bothers me about the too-regular length of the descriptive sentences right after the beginning. I do think some of them might be better combined.
Thank you, as always for reading and commenting Sandal.
Paul
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Beautifully written, Poet. Your prose is what drew me to you in the first place, and continues to do so with each piece you post. Thank you so much for entering.
Love, Lane -
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Thank you Lane.
Love, Paul
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Nothing more romantic than Song of Solomon, I have reread it countless times. So your use of it here is just wonderful.
Your description of the landscape is amazing and provides the perfect setting for this beautiful love.
Nicely done.
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Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.
Paul
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