I’ve lived as a statue, a quiet child. Overlooking the spume of glassy death—
in the winds I would imagine to be like virgin snow; and in the cobalt blue of my father’s eyes, it is a glimpse of the sky in the brimming of sea to sea, ocean to ocean.
Unsalted peanuts go to the blue peacock in his fence and I realize we are flesh and bone; we were like worms, father, eyeing the nature in its opus as “a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills”; and the treetops glissade like a sea, the desolation in the white catalpas fall; we shall not give it any mind.
We keep walking. Poetic. Isn’t it? We suppress the lay of land as it is, to the screams of Earth alone as each leaf falls, and so let it fall.
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I wrote this for today’s dverse prompt: “You must use one of these lines, word for word, in your prose piece of 144 words or less. Choose 1) “Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops” OR choose 2) “a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills”. Be certain to give credit to Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia for the line, somewhere in your post.”
I’ve left a link to the poem in the line I utilized from “Jazz Fantasia” by Carl Sandburg.
This is my (poor) attempt at non-fiction prose. It reads as something… poetical when it shouldn’t. I use flowery imagery to merely convey a memory on a few walks with my father. We looked around at the nature and scenery. And there was a blue peacock too there; he liked peanuts, but we never gave him any.
But, we observed the trees and the leaves, the windy night as it passed to darker hours. Some nights, we would just sit outside and watch the sky. Others, we would go on walks whether it was cold or not.
I hope you enjoyed this piece. I thank you for reading it.