Skip to main content

Stars


A-Z story installment S
The last bit of this story, although the alphabet isn't quite done
Life can be confusing...



She carries the little bundle up the stairs to bed. Echo curls under the quilt. Claire makes a wall of rolled up blanket behind her, to stop a fall, anchors it inside the sheet. She strolls back to damp the fire. Her ribs ache. The floorboards are smooth and cool underfoot. She pauses at the window. Stars ping out in a thickening sky. There they are, millions; millions of stars, casting down light in diamond lines, all through space, millions and millions of stars. She sits at the window seat, her hand pressed against the glass. She cries without effort.

Shadows get deeper, they overspill, make a rising tide all through the small house. There is enough illumination left to find a match. Claire lights a candle, treads back upstairs, her silhouette lurching by her side, slips into bed.
‘Obscure,’ she whispers, ‘a speck, nothing more. Unique to the one who holds it.’
Her eyes are lead-lined, impossible to lift.  Light whittles down to the width of a plumb line, and she follows it into the depths. 



Comments

Suze said…
Lis, I read 'Resuscitate' a few nights ago and this earlier, as well. I tried typing in test responses to your comment on this one. I'm glad to see things are back to 'normal' around here. (Haha.)

These last two posts were breathtakingly beautiful. And I mean that literally because I was really moved and am fairly certain that they both did actually take my breath away. There is such a purity about the way you see the world. It's not naive, and it's not in any sort of denial. Quite the opposite.

When I was blogging as Girl Wizard, I had a tagline. It was the only blog I ever used a tagline for and it was, 'Unearthing the sublime from heaps of ordinary.'

That's you. That is perfectly, utterly you.
Lisa Southard said…
(Am pleased to have resolved the comments confusion!) 'Unearthing the sublime from heaps of ordinary' is exactly what I aspire to... 'There is such a purity about the way you see the world. It's not naive, and it's not in any sort of denial.' ! Speechlessly content!!
Suze said…
'Speechlessly content!!'

:)
Dixie@dcrelief said…
So poetically delightful! I felt her eyelids close and I yawned(smile).

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...

Hometime Foam Time

It was hot outside, cold indoors. When we were freed from the hall I opened my car thinking oven gloves might be required for driving. I was weary. I was lined up for a row of shifts- but the evenings are lighter now, and the beach was calling. I drove a wiggly route to Veryan (the road I chose was closed) and down to Carne Beach. Since I had checked the weather the wind had turned easterly, and the tide was in. There were waves smacking over a disappearing line of fine sand. Undeterred I wriggled my swimsuit on and went to play in the foam.  Neither air nor sea was particularly cold. Blue and cloud patterned sky, blue and turquoise patterned sea, flowers blooming and swooshed by the wind, and the warm brown crags of rock: to be here was to be directly connected to the source of all existence.  Home time was foam time, and vice versa. Afterwards I sat in my car, door open, eating a square of dark chocolate, watching the white flecks and trying to work out if the dark dot was a...