powerless
Not a sound was perceived of mankind. No trace of technology. All electrical buzzes had ceased, all distractions of unnatural light vanished. Silence in its rarest form.
And then a rush of leaves. The loss of tranquility more than silence. A low moan took over the air, pulsing with gusts. Limbs chaotically bending against an unnervingly light sky. The tree gathered itself once again to its original form, only to whip wildly back out of shape, as a writer organizing her thoughts only to slip back into a madness of scattered thoughts.
“Eeeeecchuuu”, the branch sounded against the window. Occasionally a limb would smack the glass then drag itself across. A black cat looked up, startled. It then resumed rest, snuggled in the warmth of blankets on the bed. A girl stared wearily through the blinds, whispering to her cat, trying to sleep.
***
There’s definitely something to be said for reading Jane Austen by candlelight. It’s somehow atmospheric to curl up in a blanket on a chair, reading at 7 in the morning with only a candle to re-heat your hands.
Of course, inevitably you’ll find that the lovely heat sensation has completely left your toes and the left side of your face. And then you wonder what possibly could have possessed you to think that that powerless(and quite heatless) experience was romantic and atmospheric. Suddenly you find yourself quite enjoying the light and heat of your boyfriend’s house. Somehow Jane Austen suddenly seems just as effective in modern times.
Of course I’m still a big fan of the candles even if it does get chilly. I mean, heck, my fingers have been freezing all day, regardless of whether or not the house has heat. And I’m a tad disappointed that my puzzle was worked on to the noise of the TV instead of to chatting amongst the family with only candles to let you see the green grass pieces that look identical. (my deepest heartfelt apology for that horrifying sentence)
And so two months approaches…
~swept away in a windstorm~
@~>~>-dreamergrrl
***~***~***~***^~^~^~dreamergrrl~^~^~^***~***~***~***
isn’t this a different type of entry? That’s not a typical dreamergrrl entry. maybe I shouldn’t suspect the writer but the reader. I don’t know. Help.
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I think candles are beautiful. There’s something magical about fire, whether it be a candle or a campfire. I could just stare into it’s flickering essence forever…
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