The moment of a morning
This is a draft of the first three paragraphs of some work I’m in the process of writing. Its style of writing is quite deliberate and seeks to paint a landscape of impressions in a very short internal time frame. As much as I love to work with characters and their conversations (yes, I know, it’s something that doesn’t reach the blog often), I try to work on more ways express both concepts and ideas. Anyway, on to the draft.
Dawn spreads its wings on the rice fields of the eastern lands, the mighty bird of life again arriving at the very place from where it departed into the memories of its subjects. Golden rays descend from the heavens to the realm below, long shadows telling the promised tale of another day. Another day to live and learn, another day for flight or fight, another day to atone for the days you have already lived through.
Life stirs, shadows dance, there is a certainty to the implicitness of the morning that comes. It carries its own promises, individual prayers answered or ignored, all to be told as the shadows trade their size for the hustle of a waking world.
Across a grassy field a blossoming plum tree greets yet another morning in solitude. The flowers gleam and dance in the sunlight, their translucent white petals shimmer, reaching to the heavens, refracting the rays and leaving a moment of prismatic joy in their wake. The slight winds coming as air is heated, only serving to rustle the flowers gently, further spreading the trees sweet scent. It has been there for so long and yet every morning continues to instill it with the same wonder, the same promise, the same faith. There will be darkness, and there will be light. It is the very heartbeat we now as the circle of life.