It's always a bit bittersweet to drive away from the peace and solitude, and selfishness, of The Clearing after the week ends. For seven days I have only had to be concerned with what I needed to do, like find a cozy place to write and be on time for meals. No decisions about what to cook, or what to have Durwood cook. No household chores, just a spot of bed-making in the morning, and miles of forest trails to hike if ideas are slow in coming. I made it my job to clear cobwebs from the half-mile long red trail at least twice a day with a notecard and pencil in my pocket. There were plenty of logs or stumps or rocks to sit on when the ideas struck, and they did strike at a satisfying pace.
There's no wi-fi or even dial-up at The Clearing so I wasn't able to post my daily prompt writings. I'll do that now. Here we go...
September 12 & 13--Franz Marc, Little Yellow Horses. Where they liked to stand at night under the grove of hemlocks the little yellow horses' body heat melted the snow. They made an oasis there where the tiny blades of grass poked up early and the steam from their three huddled bodies rose into the branches. In the coldest of the winter they stood with their heads bowed together nodding and snorting as the wind sliced through the pasture. Elam was glad that it was his job to carry out their feed. His hands would cramp and freeze on the handle of the pail and he'd bark his shins on the galvanized metal as he stumbled over the frozen clods of dirt. When he reached them, the horses let him burrow between their bodies and insert himself into their warmth. Pas said that wintering horses needed oats for warmth. Their shaggy coats gleamed with health and kept the four of them warm on those dark winter mornings.
September 14--Giampietrino, Madonna and Child. Maria was so young and so in love with him. She thought she would die when he left her eventually as all men do, but for now he was hers, all hers. She could stroke him to her heart's content, gaze at him as he lay sleeping in her arms, suckle him at her willing and heavy breasts, and no one, not even her harpy of a mother-in-law would criticize her. She was a jealous lover, reluctant to share him with anyone. His nurse tried to intrude but maria turned her away, even barred the door against her to preserve her precious time with him.
September 15--Japanese School, Spring Landscape with the Sun. Spring had finally spread its green mantle on the hills. Leaves cloaked the tree branches bringing patches of cool shade for Lin to shelter in one the afternoons when the sun surprised her with its intensity. She worked hard gathering up the dried fish from the family's fishing boat. Lin's brother, Ho, got to go out on the boat, got to learn to fling the net in a perfect circle, to watch it settle into the water and ensnare the flashing silver fish. All Lin got to do was gut the catch, rub it with salt, and lay it in the sun on bamboo racks to dry. She would rather go out in the tippy boat to catch the fish than stay on land with the other girls.
September 16--Henri Rousseau, Tropical Forest: Battling Tiger and Buffalo. The forest primeval. Leaves of every shade of green are tangled in a solid wall. You can't see into it more than a foot. The cries of birds and monkeys echo in the hot, wet air as they battle over turf rights in the canopy. On the jungle floor in the murky half-light the tiger moves, her stripes blending in so that she is a shadow, a feeling of menace stalking the trail. The buffalo grazes in the clearing, its sensitive ears tuned to catch the smallest sound of approaching danger. At the clearing's edge the tiger sinks to the ground, alert to any sign that her prey has noticed her. The big cat can smell the cow buffalo, can smell the milk that drips from her teat. The end of her long sinuous tail twitches with the thought of that tender young calf.
September 17--Jan Vermeer, A Young Lady Seated at a Virginal. Maja hated being on display whenever her parents entertained guests. Her little brothers would be carried in by Nurse to be admired, their blond curls and rosy cheeks were sure to bring coos from the women. Maja knew women were suckers for babies no matter how smelly they were. Her older brother Heinrich was called into the dining room as the men sat with their cigars and port to talk about his studies at the university. She was always stuck at the keys playing insipid after-dinner music, some light thing evoking meadows and gamboling lambs. She hated having to get all trussed up in her finery with her hair rigidly pinned up and made to sit for hours while the women gossiped and she was certain her mama was hoping one would have a son they could marry her off to.
September 18--American Photographer, Grand Central Station, New York City. Morning sunshine streams in through enormous iron-bound windows making stripes in the smokey great hall of the station. No one takes the time to notice the beautiful ceiling with its painting like the midsummer night sky or the milky marble floor below. The ticket sellers in their cage in the middle of the room barely lift their eyes as they sell tickets and take money. They don't give directions, few are foolish enough to ask. The sellers don't care if the person in line is a lawyer, a secretary, a captain of industry, or a bum. All they care about is money. If you have correct change, you may get a quick smile and a flash of eye contact, but if you are foolish enough to need change, you get a sigh and a shake of the head with your ticket and your money back.
I haven't written today's prompt yet. I'll get to it before bedtime tonight, I promise. Right now I'm trying to water all the plants. It's so dry the grass hurts my feet when I walk on it. It could rain, I wouldn't mind.
--Barbara
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