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The Beach
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The Beach |
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Chris Goodman Member
since 2000-01-28
Posts 92Issaquah, Washington usa |
The beach-warm breeze carries the scent of sea salt through the open window. Yellow and white daisies fill the room with soft iridescent light. An echo of a violin and piano fills an empty corner space. A beautiful crocheted hanky shyly hides beneath Tiffany’s original colors. Wrinkled black & whites take home to silver and gold frames. Colored ones show her beautiful eyes and wild smile a little better. Soon, the star filled sky will gently tease the room’s mirrors with glowing patterns. Barely burnt wicks smoke slowly to a small flame. The dusty old smell of all the room’s treasures aid in the blossom of memories. Crashing waves now shake the Country French Chandeliers. Mirielle loved the blue and white light that gleamed across the room. She watched boats come into the English Channel and had great plans to marry a sailor boy. Making love to the thought had been a shameless hobby of young Mirielle. Calais danced to the rhythm of Mirelle. Her youthful beauty took the time to escort a bundle of countryside men. Some came for the elaborate conversations and private dinner parties. Others came for the exhilarating experience of brushing young Mirelle’s raven locks. Either way Mirelle lived for each passing moment and took nothing too seriously. If only she would have been a bit grounded. Maybe the silver and gold frames would be filled with pictures of a family. Perhaps a husband would have left the smell of cigars and brandy. A great masterpiece! “A room at the beach filled with things I loved”, by Mirelle. If only this diary held some truth to her thoughts of love. She did indeed love this room. She loved her wine and song. She adored the young sailor boys that were swept out to sea by large vessels. Yet no sign of true love. Perhaps the story is best without an ending. Thinking of the beach with Mirelle is enticing. Life imitates art too often. Mirelle never had a single ounce of love. Smells do not lie nor hide the sinking truth of young Mirelle. Neither does this diary. She died alone in this room. She swore she would never leave Calais. Her promise kept true. |
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| © Copyright 2000 Chris Goodman - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Interesting tale... A life without love is a life I couldn't imagine living. Good writing, hope to see you around!  In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Beautiful imagery! Good job...sad though. |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Interesting, different, adn yes, sad. |
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