by Marybeth Rua-Larsen
He was a vagrant of lushness, wandering from one shade-soaked neighborhood to the next while the mid-day sun slapped the faces of potted petunias and made them look the other way. Happiest barefoot, he strolled through flowered, pampered backyards, strewn with inflatable beach balls and abandoned cocktails, their pink umbrellas twirling in the breeze, and felt no sense of urgency. Those cool squares of green kept him landlocked, and when asbestos roof tiles flew into an oak and lettered its branches, urging him to move along, he resisted. Dragging an Adirondack chair from one house and rummaging through another’s patio bar until he could mix himself a gin and tonic, he settled in by the oak and sipped. The crushed clam shells in the driveway rattled with impatience, but all he wanted was that green curling around his toes. The sea rolled by for its god like a Cadillac on a joy ride, flashing its cerulean waves, failing to lure him home.
3 comments:
"He was a vagrant of lushness . . ." What a great opener. You could probably get a novel out of that one. In fact, there are a number of really nice turns. Here, for instance:
". . .roof tiles flew into an oak and lettered its branches . . ."
Nice. I assume this is one of the sea gods who has becomes landlocked. Or gone on vacation and decided he liked it. Or perhaps just a man, a Walter Mitty type, who imagines himself a god.
Enjoyable read in any case.
P. Frey
Good work, Marybeth. Some terrific phrasing. Two thumbs up.
What beautiful phrasing, Marybeth. Beautiful work.
Post a Comment