marisol lafaille

United States

favorite books~ the leopard, anna karenina
currently reading~ the three musketeers
infp-t
est. december second, twenty twenty
~follow for a follow~

Message from Writer

"in dreams and fantasies my spirit is a millionaire"

Published Work

plum brandy

    Marisol Lafaille was waiting for her spoon.
    That morning everywhere in the world seemed to her worrisome, so down the street she went, passing the church, and straight to the nearest café. They promptly seated her in a little side compartment, and there she sat, eating and drinking all she could manage until the little clock on the wall struck twelve thirty. She then ordered desert.
    “Plum brandy, please.” she said, and smiled,
    Just like the old days ‘cept Flore and Marietta aren’t here to enjoy it.
    The waiter had once again came and delivered her order, but of course had forgotten the spoon. She sat there waiting with her head propped up on one hand and an unlit cigarette pulled from the folds of her powder pink day dress in the other. And with the sudden burst of melancholy she despairingly thought,
    Oh why was the world so cruel? I’d be fine being the tragic heroine, but...

plum brandy

    Marisol Lafaille was waiting for her spoon.
    That morning everywhere in the world seemed to her worrisome, so down the street she went, passing the church, and straight to the nearest café. They promptly seated her in a little side compartment, and there she sat, eating and drinking all she could manage until the little clock on the wall struck twelve thirty. She then ordered desert.
    “Plum brandy, please.” she said, and smiled,
    Just like the old days ‘cept Flore and Marietta aren’t here to enjoy it.
    The waiter had once again came and delivered her order, but of course had forgotten the spoon. She sat there waiting with her head propped up on one hand and an unlit cigarette pulled from the folds of her powder pink day dress in the other. And with the sudden burst of melancholy she despairingly thought,
    Oh why was the world so cruel? I’d be fine being the tragic heroine, but...

N°1

    After a long day alone in the world she'd come and perch her little lark self in my grandmother's ladderback rocking chair out on the front porch, and sigh away the dusk.

    She'd sit for hours out there, stitching away at a new pair of sheets or pillowcases, making them for really no reason in particular. Maybe it was an attempt security that my position could not offer, or maybe it was all for the satisfaction of her little crazy craving for bursts of perfection over and over again.

    I'd always give her a half an hour or so to work before coming out into the dry summer dusk, and pacing up behind her hunched little shoulders to see her progress. She'd give a faint glare and cough, just to worry me, I always supposed. I'd always just smile as warmly as I could, and express my usual happiness at all her fine work. I'd continue...

N°1

    After a long day alone in the world she'd come and perch her little lark self in my grandmother's ladderback rocking chair out on the front porch, and sigh away the dusk.

    She'd sit for hours out there, stitching away at a new pair of sheets or pillowcases, making them for really no reason in particular. Maybe it was an attempt security that my position could not offer, or maybe it was all for the satisfaction of her little crazy craving for bursts of perfection over and over again.

    I'd always give her a half an hour or so to work before coming out into the dry summer dusk, and pacing up behind her hunched little shoulders to see her progress. She'd give a faint glare and cough, just to worry me, I always supposed. I'd always just smile as warmly as I could, and express my usual happiness at all her fine work. I'd continue...

N°1

    After a long day alone in the world she'd come and perch her little lark self in my grandmother's ladderback rocking chair out on the front porch, and sigh away the dusk.

    She'd sit for hours out there, stitching away at a new pair of sheets or pillowcases, making them for really no reason in particular. Maybe it was an attempt security that my position could not offer, or maybe it was all for the satisfaction of her little crazy craving for bursts of perfection over and over again.

    I'd always give her a half an hour or so to work before coming out into the dry summer dusk, and pacing up behind her hunched little shoulders to see her progress. She'd give a faint glare and cough, just to worry me, I always supposed. I'd always just smile as warmly as I could, and express my usual happiness at all her fine work. I'd continue...

musetta

    All you ever wanted was to be a work of art. Nothing more than to be painted in great sweeps of the artist's bitter stroke. You told me once that you wished to be hung up in a gilt frame, in a far off corner and be stared at forever. You sighed and let pass through those lips what I knew was upon them~ passion for something that was not yours, and never could be. O musetta! How could you ever bear it? 
    All I knew was all that I could ever be was an impression of your desire, how could I have let you prevail upon my heart?
so I turned to wistful despair.
    Time dripped away in the usual way, and with it I learned a new deportment. With it came the twinge of wistful longing for the old days, but also a new grasp of reality, and the fresh...

café au lait

    All she wanted that morning was a sip of coffee with milk and a basic understanding of her defeat.
    She had long ago mastered the art of strutting long the little cobbled streets in 4 inch stilettos, her feet were too small to wear higher ones.     
    The streets were empty that morning, she supposed everyone was crammed into the little ancient chapel on Chemin de la Trinité, it was after all Sunday morning.
     oh well... one missed mass won't hurt me, though i'll suffer later for it i suppose.. 
    
Up she went, round the little stairways, minding the basket hung on her arm, charging away into the scape of stone and grime that was the only world she ever knew.

café au lait

 All she wanted that morning was a sip of coffee with milk and a basic understanding of her defeat. She had long ago mastered the art of strutting long the little cobbled streets in 4 inch stilettos, her feet were too small to wear higher ones. The streets were empty that morning, she supposed everyone was crammed into the little ancient chapel on Chemin de la Trinité, it was after all Sunday morning.
     oh well... one missed mass won't hurt me, though i'll suffer later for it i suppose.. 
    
Up she went, round the little stairways, minding the basket hung on her arm, charging away into the scape of stone and grime that was the only world she ever knew.

café au lait

 All she wanted that morning was a sip of coffee with milk and a basic understanding of her defeat. She had long ago mastered the art of strutting long the little cobbled streets in 4 inch stilettos, her feet were too small to wear higher ones. The streets were empty that morning, she supposed everyone was crammed into the little ancient chapel on Chemin de la Trinité, it was after all Sunday morning.
     oh well... one missed mass won't hurt me, though i'll suffer later for it i suppose.. 
    
Up she went, round the little stairways, minding the basket hung on her arm, charging away into the scape of stone and grime that was the only world she ever knew.

musetta

    All you ever wanted was to be a work of art. Nothing more than to be painted in great sweeps of the artist's bitter stroke. You told me once that you wished to be hung up in a gilt frame, in a far off corner and be stared at forever. You sighed and let pass through those lips what I knew was upon them~ passion for something that was not yours, and never could be. O musetta! How could you ever bear it? 
    All I knew was all that I could ever be was an impression of your desire, how could I have let you prevail upon my heart?
so I turned to wistful despair.
    Time dripped away in the usual way, and with it I learned a new deportment. With it came the twinge of wistful longing for the old days, but also a new grasp of reality, and the fresh...

musetta

    All you ever wanted was to be a work of art. Nothing more than to be painted in great sweeps of the artist's bitter stroke.
    You told me once that you wished to be hung up in a gilt frame, in a far off corner and be stared at forever. You sighed and let pass through those lips what I knew was upon them~ passion for something that was not yours, and never could be. 
    I sat alone and you were with me, and all I knew was that all that I could ever be was an impression of your desire, so I turned to wistful despair.
    Time dripped away in the usual way, and with it I learned a new deportment. With it came the twinge of wistful longing for the old days, but also a new grasp of reality, and the fresh awareness of the fact that you were...

musetta

Oh Musetta!
Why do you sit all alone, with your curls and flounces of fine golden hair tressed up to the seldom seen sun?

    All you ever wanted was to be a work of art. Nothing more than to be painted in great sweeps of the artist's bitter stroke.
    You told me once that you wished to be hung up in a gilt frame, in a far off corner and be stared at forever. You sighed and let pass through those lips what I knew was upon them~ passion for something that was not yours, and never could be. 
    I sat alone and you were with me, and all I knew was that all that I could ever be was an impression of your desire, so I turned to wistful despair.
    Time dripped away in the usual way, and with it I learned a new deportment. With it came the twinge of wistful...

musetta

Oh Musetta!
Why do you sit all alone, with your curls and flounces of fine golden hair tressed up to the seldom seen sun?

    All you ever wanted was to be a work of art. Nothing more than to be painted in great sweeps of the artist's bitter stroke.
    You told me once that you wished to be hung up in a gilt frame, in a far off corner and be stared at forever. You sighed and let pass through those lips what I knew was upon them~ passion for something that was not yours, and never could be. 
    I sat alone and you were with me, and all I knew was that all that I could ever be was an impression of your desire, so I turned to wistful despair.
    Time dripped away in the usual way, and with it I learned a new deportment. With it came the twinge of wistful...

February Grab Bag

All Everything Ever Was

Pandemonium. 

That's all this was, all everything ever was, she supposed.


    Miss Vera Parch had not eaten in three days. She walked through the entrance hall of the place with her head held high and pretended that everything around her was not reduced to the blocks and patches that her eyes always saw in this state.
    She was taller in heels, she supposed it was because Stella insisted upon sending her there in the 5 inch ones.
    And then she entered his office and collapsed.
    Dragging herself across the floor was an odd sensation, she had walk it so many times. She leaned against the desk and opened it. There was only one dreadfully stained folder with her name scrawled cross the top, 

    Miss Vera Parch
    Age~22
    5'5"
    102 lbs.
    Brown hair & eyes
    Fairly slim scar on right ankle 

        Presumed Dead.


 ...

February Grab Bag

All Everything Ever Was

Pandemonium. 

That's all this was, all everything ever was, she supposed.


    Miss Vera Parch had not eaten in three days. She walked through the entrance hall of the place with her head held high and pretended that everything around her was not reduced to the blocks and patches that her eyes always saw in this state.
    She was taller in heels, she supposed it was because Stella insisted upon sending her there in the 5 inch ones.
    And then she entered his office and collapsed.
    Dragging herself across the floor was an odd sensation, she had walk it so many times. She leaned against the desk and opened it. There was only one dreadfully stained folder with her name scrawled cross the top, 

    Miss Vera Parch
    Age~22
    5'5"
    102 lbs.
    Brown hair & eyes
    Fairly slim scar on right ankle 

        Presumed Dead.


 ...

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

25 Words

roulette

He handed it to me
My hand went flat against the rigid barrel

        Click
            Click 
                Click 
    
                                
everything spun 
I pushed down
    And all was gone
    






 

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

25 Words

roulette

One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three


    In the vortex of their waltz she whispered, 
    "Away we go to madness..."
   
     So they danced
                    into the night...

25 Words

roulette

One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three


    In the vortex of their waltz she whispered, 
    "Away we go to madness..."
   
     So they danced
                    into the night...

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

Impressions III || The Saint Lazare Station, Blue Candied Armchairs, & Preparations for Dinner|| MORE ADDED

    The frenzied allure of The Saint Lazare Station always struck Marietta with a bitter sort of pang, though she refused to acknowledge why. The train from Normandy would come in ten minutes time, so she sat on the bench and looked ahead at the tracks and smokey chaos all around her.
    Oh how she needed a frigid bath, she’d ask Maman and Domitille to put ice in it like the old day. They’d take care to warm her up again afterward and she’d sit in front of the fire with Papa, her legs dangling down from the armchair in front of the ancient fireplace.
    She sighed, clicked her tongue, and sank her spinning head to her hands. In the distance there came a whistle and a faint blowing sound. They would arrive in two minutes, so she stood and walked to the platform to meet them.
    Arrive they did, all seven in a line, the two men and the maid...

Impressions II || Plum Brandy

    Marisol Lafaille was waiting for her spoon.
    That morning everywhere in the world seemed to her worrisome, so down the street she went, passing the church, and straight to the nearest café. They promptly seated her in a little side compartment, and there she sat, eating and drinking all she could manage until the little clock on the wall struck twelve thirty. She then ordered desert.
    “Plum brandy, please.” she said, and smiled,
    Just like the old days ‘cept Flore and Marietta aren’t here to enjoy it.
    The waiter had once again came and delivered her order, but of course had forgotten the spoon. She sat there waiting with her head propped up on one hand and an unlit cigarette pulled from the folds of her powder pink day dress in the other. And with the sudden burst of melancholy she despairingly thought,
    Oh why was the world so cruel? I’d be fine being the tragic heroine, but Marietta? Oh!...

Impressions II || Plum Brandy

    Marisol Lafaille was waiting for her spoon.
    That morning everywhere in the world seemed to her worrisome, so down the street she went, passing the church, straight to the nearest café. They promptly seated her in a little side compartment, and there she sat, eating and drinking all she could manage until the little clock on the wall struck twelve thirty, she then ordered desert.
    “Plum brandy, please.” she said, and smiled,
    Just like the old days ‘cept Flore and Marietta aren’t here to enjoy it.
    The waiter had once again came and delivered her oder, but had of course forgotten the spoon. She sat there waiting with her head propped up on one hand and an unlit cigarette pulled from the folds of her powder pink day dress in the other. And with the sudden burst of melancholy she despairingly thought,
    Oh why was the world so cruel? I’d be fine being the tragic heroine, but Marietta? Oh! She...

Impressions I || Chez Le Père Lathuille

    The year 1874
    The sun dappled across the fountain droplets in garden that morning. Through the window she saw it, as if all were a mere daydream thought up from morning air in spring. The room was clean, fixed from the mess of yesterday’s affair, Lisette must have noticed and cleaned. So she stood, and everywhere around her blurred into a thousand flecks and swashes of light. She caught sight of herself in the mirror her mother had bargained away from that young widow all those years ago, and she stared, her tall drizzling figure, once full, but now drowning sorrowfully away in folds of her nightdress.     Her face was too pale, almost transparent from the cold of the room, the only color was the generous blotch of her mouth, a vibrant rosy pink.
    Down in the hall the clock stuck ten thirty.
    She sighed and clicked her tongue, all too late to get up, even for Saturday....

Impressions I || Chez Le Père Lathuille

    The year 1874
    The sun dappled across the fountain droplets in garden that morning. Through the window she saw it, as if all were a mere daydream thought up from morning air in spring. The room was clean, fixed from the mess of yesterday’s affair, Lisette must have noticed and cleaned. So she stood, and everywhere around her blurred into a thousand flecks and swashes of light. She caught sight of herself in the mirror her mother had bargained away from that young widow all those years ago, and she stared, her tall drizzling figure, once full, but now drowning sorrowfully away in folds of her nightdress.     Her face was too pale, almost transparent from the cold of the room, the only color was the generous blotch of her mouth, a vibrant rosy pink.
    Down in the hall the clock stuck ten thirty.
    She sighed and clicked her tongue, all too late to get up, even for Saturday....

Impressions || Prologue || more added & see footnotes!

The year 1862

    Marietta walked out of the house and into the bleak summer night of whistling winds, straight to the hard worn sea. She dropped down right at the very edge of the tide, now low, and lost herself in the screams and horrors imagined up from the dapples of foam, and let the little fingers of the far reaching sea fondle her toes until at last she fell back, and let herself be completely engulfed.
    “Marietta. A drop of bitter sea.
     That was what Rosamunde always called her. But now she was away.
    She lulled and sank and nearly floated up to the clouds, and then awareness struck and she sat up and looked about. And promptly gave a little gasp and then a quite large yelp, for standing a few feet away was a boy all dressed up in evening wear, with a scarf and a coat thrown about his shoulders, clearly...

Impressions || Prologue || more added & see footnotes!

The year 1862

    Marietta walked out of the house and into the bleak summer night of whistling winds, straight to the hard worn sea. She dropped down right at the very edge of the tide, now low, and lost herself in the screams and horrors imagined up from the dapples of foam, and let the little fingers of the far reaching sea fondle her toes until at last she fell back, and let herself be completely engulfed.
    “Marietta. A drop of bitter sea.
     That was what Rosamunde always called her. But now she was away.
    She lulled and sank and nearly floated up to the clouds, and then awareness struck and she sat up and looked about. And promptly gave a little gasp and then a quite large yelp, for standing a few feet away was a boy all dressed up in evening wear, with a scarf and a coat thrown about his shoulders, clearly in...

Impressions || Prologue || more added & see footnotes!

The year 1862

    Marietta walked out of the house and into the bleak summer night of whistling winds, straight to the hard worn sea. She dropped down right at the very edge of the tide, now low, and lost herself in the screams and horrors imagined up from the dapples of foam, and let the little fingers of the far reaching sea fondle her toes until at last she fell back, and let herself be completely engulfed.
    “Marietta. A drop of bitter sea.
     That was what Rosamunde always called her. But now she was away.
    She lulled and sank and nearly floated up to the clouds, and then awareness struck and she sat up and looked about. And promptly gave a little gasp and then a quite large yelp, for standing a few feet away was a boy all dressed up in evening wear, with a scarf and a coat thrown about his shoulders, clearly in...

Impressions || Prologue || more added & see footnotes!

The year 1862

    Marietta walked out of the house and into the bleak summer night of whistling winds, straight to the hard worn sea. She dropped down right at the very edge of the tide, now low, and lost herself in the screams and horrors imagined up from the dapples of foam, and let the little fingers of the far reaching sea fondle her toes until at last she fell back, and let herself be completely engulfed.
    “Marietta. A drop of bitter sea.
     That was what Rosamunde always called her. But now she was away.
    She lulled and sank and nearly floated up to the clouds, and then awareness struck and she sat up and looked about. And promptly gave a little gasp and then a quite large yelp, for standing a few feet away was a boy all dressed up in evening wear, with a scarf and a coat thrown about his shoulders, clearly in...

Impressions || Prologue || more added & see footnotes!

    1862

    Marietta walked out of the house and into the bleak summer night of whistling winds, straight to the hard worn sea. She dropped down right at the very edge of the tide, now low, and lost herself in the screams and horrors imagined up from the dapples of foam, and let the little fingers of the far reaching sea fondle her toes until at last she fell back, and let herself be completely engulfed.
    “Marietta. A drop of bitter sea.
     That was what Rosamunde always called her. But now she was away.
    She lulled and sank and nearly floated up to the clouds, and then awareness struck and she sat up and looked about. And promptly gave a little gasp and then a quite large yelp, for standing a few feet away was a boy all dressed up in evening wear, with a scarf and a coat thrown about his shoulders, clearly in a hurry....

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the fragile dignity of man in just 330 pages.

    The Leopard. A potent, vivacious, lofty tale that tells of the life and death of an age, through the life and death of just one man.

    The Leopard. A vivid, grandiose, zesty world showcasing the exuberance, yet vulnerability of the old Sicilian Aristocracy, while reflecting the humanity of all such institutions throughout all history and time. 

    The Leopard. Eternal in its own right.

“As always the thought of his own death calmed him as much as that of others disturbed him: was it perhaps because, when all was said and done, his own death would in the first place mean that of the whole world?”

    Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows the quickly aging Don...

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the fragile dignity of man in just 330 pages.

    The Leopard. A potent, vivacious, lofty tale that tells of the life and death of an age of human existence, through the life and death of just one man.

    The Leopard. A vivid, grandiose, zesty world showcasing the exuberance, yet vulnerability of the old Sicilian Aristocracy, while reflecting the humanity of all such institutions throughout all history and time. 

    The Leopard. Eternal in its own right.

“As always the thought of his own death calmed him as much as that of others disturbed him: was it perhaps because, when all was said and done, his own death would in the first place mean that of the whole world?”

    Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows the...

Into the Cerements of Time

    The treetops poked their barren fingers at the bitter sky and wept for the lost, fragrant nights of summer. In the very first whispers of night, just before the dusk fell into slumbers, young Vlerian and his chestnut-golden horse went quietly out to the forest edge and decided to ride upon the bellows of the eastern wind down to the faraway sea. 
    And so they galloped away across the rolling hills to the forest. In its due time the dusk wore away to evening and night was upon the land. The forest around them was quiet, and the snow was dancing down, and still they rode deeper down the paths. Soon the moon was crawling up further into the turrets of the night sky, yet still they still huffed on ahead.     Suddenly they reached a glade with a spring of bubbling water and many fruits growing there. Seeing this they gave into temptation and made themselves comfortable; eating the sumptuous...

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the helpless dignity of man in just 330 pages. Centered around the quickly aging Prince of Salina, this book his book entices the reader to savour the joys of youth and life, while always being aware of the world around.

   Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina. The novel explores countless subjects, including the sentiments of the broken world that the Prince cannot escape, his attempts to come to terms with the end of his age, and the future of his family, specifically the marriage of his young and rather rash nephew Tancredi to the beautiful and rich, however, without class, Angelica.  The novel is wistful for times long gone, and if I, as the reader, should sum it up in one word it would...

Into the Cerements of Time

    The treetops poked their barren fingers at the bitter sky and wept for the lost fragrant nights of summer. In the very first whispers of night, just before the dusk fell into slumbers, the young Vlerian and his chestnut-golden horse went quietly out to the forest edge and decided to ride upon the bellows of the eastern wind down to the faraway sea. 
    And so they galloped away across the rolling hills to the forest, and even so the dusk wore away to evening and night was upon the land. The forest around them was quiet, and the snow was dancing down, and still they rode deeper down the paths. But soon the moon was crawling up further into the turrets of the night sky, so slower they got. Being both persistent, and rather stubborn, they still huffed on ahead until they reached a glade with a spring of bubbling water and many fruits growing there, seeing this...

Into the Cerements of Time

    The treetops poked their barren fingers at the bitter sky and wept for the lost fragrant nights of summer. In the very first whispers of night, just before the dusk fell into slumbers, the young Vlerian and his chestnut-golden horse went quietly out to the forest edge and decided to ride upon the bellows of the eastern wind down to the faraway sea. 
    And so they galloped away across the rolling hills to the forest, and even so the dusk wore away to evening and night was upon the land. The forest around them was quiet, and the snow was dancing down, and still they rode deeper down the paths. But soon the moon was crawling up further into the turrets of the night sky, so slower they got. Being both persistent, and rather stubborn, they still huffed on ahead until they reached a glade with a spring of bubbling water and many fruits growing there, seeing this...

Into the Cerements of Time

    The treetops poked their barren fingers at the bitter sky and wept for the lost fragrant nights of summer. In the very first whispers of night, just before the dusk fell into slumbers, the young Vlerian and his chestnut-golden horse went quietly out to the forest edge and decided to ride upon the bellows of the eastern wind down to the faraway sea. 
    And so they galloped away across the rolling hills to the forest, and even so the dusk wore away to evening and night was upon the land. The forest around them was quiet, and the snow was dancing down, and still they rode deeper down the paths, yet slower they got since it was very late, and they were both very hungry, and persistent still they huffed on ahead until they reached a glade with a spring of bubbling water and many fruits growing there. 
    This was a place for the dryads, they came and went as...

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the helpless dignity of man in just 330 pages. Centered around the quickly aging Prince of Salina, this book his book entices the reader to savour the joys of youth and life, while always aware of the world around.

   Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, exploring his sentiments of the broken world he cannot escape, his attempts to come to terms with the end of his age, and the future of his family, specifically the marriage of his young and rather rash nephew Tancredi to the beautiful and rich, however, without class, Angelica.  The novel is wistful for times long gone, and if I, as the reader, should sum it up in one word it would most certainly be hiraeth- nostalgia for a time you...

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the helpless dignity of human nature in just 330 pages. Centered around the fading era of the quickly aging Prince of Salina, this book entices the reader to savour the joys of youth and life, while always aware of the world around. 
   Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, exploring his sentiments of the broken world he cannot escape, his attempts to come to terms with the end of his age, and the future of his family, specifically the marriage of his young and rather rash nephew Tancredi to the beautiful and rich, however, without class, Angelica.  The novel is wistful for times long gone, and if I, as the reader, should sum it up in one word it would most certainly be hiraeth- nostalgia for...

Into the Cerements of Time

The treetops poked their barren fingers at the bitter sky and wept for the lost fragrant nights of summer. In the very first whispers of night, just before the dusk fell into slumbers, the young Vlerian and his chestnut-golden horse went quietly out to the forest edge and decided to ride upon the bellows of the eastern wind down to the faraway sea. 
And so they galloped away across the rolling hills to the forest, and even so the dusk wore away to evening and night was upon the land. The forest around them was quiet, and the snow was dancing down, . And still they rode deeper down the paths, yet slower they got since it was very late, and they were both very hungry, and yet still they huffed on ahead until they reached a glade with a spring and fruits growing there. 
This was a place for the dryads, they came and went as they please, and...

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the helpless dignity of human nature in just 330 pages. Centered around the fading era of the quickly aging Prince of Salina, this book entices the reader to savour the joys of youth and life, while always aware of the world around. 
   Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, exploring his sentiments of the broken world he cannot escape, his attempts to come to terms with the end of his age, and the future of his family, specifically the marriage of his young and rather rash nephew Tancredi to the beautiful and rich, however, without class, Angelica.  The novel is wistful for times long gone, and if I, as the reader, should sum it up in one word it would most certainly be hiraeth- nostalgia for...

Into the Cerements of Time

The treetops poked their barren fingers at the bitter sky and wept for the lost fragrant nights of summer. In the very first whispers of night, just before the dusk fell into slumbers, the young Vlerian and his chestnut-golden horse went quietly out to the forest edge and decided to ride upon the bellows of the eastern wind down to the faraway sea. 
And so they galloped away across the rolling hills to the forest, and even so the dusk wore away to evening and night was upon the land. The forest around them was quiet, and the snow was dancing down, . And still they rode deeper down the paths, yet slower they got since it was very late, and they were both very hungry, and yet still they huffed on ahead until they reached a glade with a spring and fruits growing there. 
This was a place for the dryads, they came and went as they please, and...

Book Review Competition 2021

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's The Leopard - Eternal In Its Own Right

      The Leopard. A melancholy, sweeping, subtle masterwork that elegantly describes the helpless dignity of human nature in just 330 pages. Centered around the fading era of the quickly aging Prince of Salina, this book entices the reader to savour the joys of youth and life, while always aware of the world around. 
   Set against the backdrop of the political upheaval following Il Risorgimento (the Italian Unification) in 1860, the story spans 50 years and follows Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, exploring his sentiments of the broken world he cannot escape, his attempts to come to terms with the end of his age, and the future of his family, specifically the marriage of his young and rather rash nephew Tancredi to the beautiful and rich, however, without class, Angelica.  The novel is wistful for times long gone, and if I, as the reader, should sum it up in one word it would most certainly be hiraeth- nostalgia for...

Bread and Light

Senses

Senses, 
to you,
a young lady in eighteen hundred and sixty six,
are
just
the same
to me, 
a young lady in two thousand and twenty.



1. The Nosegay-
        Smells of sweetness endear the nose, 
        fastened to the bodice, nearest to the heart, 
        I hold them just close enough for the fragrance  
        to waft up to faint breaths of air
        that will take them in.
            Scent. 

2. The Orange- 
        Tastes of the neighbors' at Christmas,
        effluvious in the wintertime,
        and so I put the slices between the lips,
        and the peelings of balmy gush, 
        beset the bland repose of the mouth.
            Taste. 

3. The Lovebird-
        My mother had one once,
        he used to sing the twitters of day away,
        I floundered in the rich flavors of his song, ...

Bread and Light

Senses

Senses, 
to you,
a young lady in eighteen hundred and sixty six,
are
just
the same
to me, 
a young lady in two thousand and twenty.



1. The Nosegay-
        Smells of sweetness endear the nose, 
        fastened to the bodice, nearest to the heart, 
        I hold them just close enough for the fragrance  
        to waft up to faint breaths of air
        that will take them in.
            Scent. 

2. The Orange- 
        Tastes of the neighbors' at Christmas,
        effluvious in the wintertime,
        and so I put the slices between the lips,
        and the peelings of balmy gush, 
        beset the bland repose of the mouth.
            Taste. 

3. The Lovebird-
        My mother had one once,
        he used to sing the twitters of day away,
        I floundered in the rich flavors of his song, ...

The Drabble

Whispers in the Eastern Wind

"Laden down your weary loads and come far away to the land where dwell the eastern winds" 
   
    
In light of dawn she stood in the crags, and staggered from the weights of long ago. The brooding stare moved downwards to her feet engulfed in salt of the sea.
        "Into the bluster,
         of the
         eastern winds..."


    The veil billowed round her figure, and she stooped down, picking a scallop from the water.

    She whispered to the wind, "Away, thats where this is, far in the lands of lost forever..."

And away she trudged along,
Far as the stars would take her.

The Drabble

Whispers in the Eastern Wind

"Laden down your weary loads and come far away to the lands of eastern winds" 

"Come all ye gladdened men;
Float them that
worry and snare thee
silently down
into the bluster 
of the eastern wind"
   

        In light of the dawn she stood in the crags, and she remembered the life she held before, the brooding stare moved downwards to the horizon, and her charcoal veil billowed round her figure. 
    She whispered to the wind, "Away, thats where this is, far away in the lost lands of forever"

And away she trudged along,
Far as the stars would take her.
 

L'etoile (message board)

L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Waiting.
    Watching.

    Alone in the face of lights, she was breathing.
    A spark in her chest flared out, 
    and twiddled down with her limbs, 
    She held herself,
    the only way she wanted,
    up toward the light of the stage. 

L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Breathing.
    Gliding.

    A great pillar of black, penetrating.
    A sigh escaped her hollow chest,
    and her mouth pressed into a smile.
    She expanded,
    her emaciated self, 
    into the light of the stage.
    
L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Penetrating.
    Lurking.

    In a moment it would be over. 
    The dance would be lost to time,
    and with it her dignity. 
    Gone to the trapping suffocation, 
    under the pillar of black,
    in...

L'etoile (message board)

L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Waiting.
    Watching.

    Alone in the face of lights, she was breathing.
    A spark in her chest flared out, 
    and twiddled down with her limbs, 
    She held herself,
    the only way she wanted,
    up toward the light of the stage. 

L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Breathing.
    Gliding.

    A great pillar of black, penetrating.
    A sigh escaped her hollow chest,
    and her mouth pressed into a smile.
    She expanded,
    her emaciated self, 
    into the light of the stage.
    
L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Penetrating.
    Lurking.

    In a moment it would be over. 
    The dance would be lost to time,
    and with it her dignity. 
    Gone to the trapping suffocation, 
    under the pillar of black,
    in...

L'etoile (message board)

L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Waiting.
    Watching.

    Alone in the face of lights, she was breathing.
    A spark in her chest flared out, 
    and twiddled down with her limbs, 
    She held herself,
    the only way she wanted,
    up toward the light of the stage. 

L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Breathing.
    Gliding.

    A great pillar of black, penetrating.
    A sigh escaped her hollow chest,
    and her mouth pressed into a smile.
    She expanded,
    her emaciated self, 
    into the light of the stage.
    
L'ombre.

    He was behind the wings, 
    Penetrating.
    Lurking.

    In a moment it would be over. 
    The dance would be lost to time,
    and with it her dignity. 
    Gone to the trapping suffocation, 
    under the pillar of black,
    in...

In a Hall of Graven Faces

Inward facing, Always changing, Lights in the dark of night.

"Dianthus" She said his name in the sigh of death, as she promised so long ago, and collapsed into his lap and fell into ceaseless sleep...

    "In a hall of graven faces,
    a silent finger traces,
    the lines of age into plaits of time..."
  He said as he brushed aside a charcoal tress from her face. They were wedged in the little alcove in the gallery and the night was silent around them.
    "Silent finger traces.." she echoed and held his hand where it was, her translucent face had the faintest blush about it. She closed her glassy eyes and pulled out of the vestibule and into the expanse of darkness. He looked at her, longingly reaching toward his lady, swathed in drapes of white. 
    "Where one is two and two is one,
    There be a dying ember, ...

In a Hall of Graven Faces

Inward facing, Always changing, Lights in the dark of night.

"Dianthus" She said his name as she promised so long ago, and collapsed into his lap and fell into ceaseless sleep...

    "In a hall of graven faces,
    darling,
    we shall see each other's light
    and be
    forever found..."
  He said as he brushed aside the charcoal tress from her face. They were wedged in the little alcove in the gallery and the night was silent around them.
    "In the hall of graven faces" she echoed and held his hand where it was, her translucent face had the faintest blush around it. She closed her glassy eyes and pulled out of the vestibule and into the expanse of darkness. Her dress fanned out and he looked at her, swathed in drapes of white. 
    "Where one is two and two is one,
    There be a dying ember,
    while fate entwines its strings ...

Lament For Calendula ~ Part I

"Sing me a song,
Oh Calendula,
When your arms
are around me 
so dear, 
I'll forget my lament 
Oh Calendula 
And all that's around me will hear...
"

 He sat in the sigh of the wind, in a place far and forgotten, and he remembered...

    "Oh Calendula, with your name upon my lips I shall cry the old call of war and stage my battle with fate!" Pierre smiled at his Calendula, perched upon the terrace far above him. 
    "Pierre don't say such things, they're not to be tested!" She scolded, but as she said this her lips curved up into a smile and her loose ringlets bounced and she said through her laugh, "My Pierre off to war in his uniform, why I'd never thought this day would come." She thought for a moment and the clicked her tongue and turned to come into the gardens beneath. He met her with an embrace and she...

Mariannina

"Mariannina, why so melancholy?
With your hair of such deep golden sunshine,
A smile for the silk upon your back,
and a laugh for your face, so pensive,
I sit and admire, 
Your lap laden with strings,
of the leopardwood vihuela
"
    So sang that velvety tenor voice of the good old Francesco Paolo, "A song for the dear little lady on her birthday," said he as his glance moved to the little contessa sitting with the very new vihuela upon her lap. Mariannina curved up the corners of her sweet rosy lips and looked at him in the way only she could. 
    "Why, I do not believe I am so little anymore, and I am certainly not melancholy!" she jested as she folded her quaint little hands around the instrument into her lap and blushed a rather obvious tone of red. 
    "Oh dear, don't be embarrassed, 'tis the way you looked with while I sung, only a...

Mariannina

"Mariannina, why so melancholy?
With your hair of such deep golden sunshine,
A smile for the silk upon your back,
and a laugh for your face, so pensive,
I sit and admire 
Your lap laden with strings
of the leopardwood vihuela
"
    So sang that velvety tenor voice of the good old Francesco Paolo, "A song for the dear little lady on her birthday," said he as his glance moved to the little contessa sitting with the very new vihuela upon her lap. Mariannina curved up the corners of her sweet rosy lips and looked at him in the way only she could. 
    "Why, I do not believe I am so little anymore, and I am certainly not melancholy!" she jested as she folded her quaint little hands around the instrument into her lap and blushed a rather obvious tone of red. 
    "Oh dear, don't be embarrassed, 'tis the way you looked with while I sung, only a...