Enga mellom fjella

Snow shadows [298]

David McClain (Tor): often times the best of us resides in our shadow selves.

For "Space Blog" 

"Still and Snow"   [E] by Solace.Bring

Not my favorite by SB. It doesn't flow smoothly in more than one place; e.g. 'with company' could be 'together'. There are extraneous words that make it read like prose instead of poetry. A couple 'and's' could be striked and both instances of 'is' can be replaced with a static or 'slow motion' verb. That said, the piece is peaceful and paints a lovely scene, especially for those of us who grew up in Snow Country or who love the snow. If I sound harsh it's because I like SB's writings and this doesn't quite measure up. As is I rate it a 3.9.

Prompt: Do you like snow? Tell us about it.

Yes. Grew up with it. In spite of the difficulties it can create for adult humans, my inner child always marvels at it.

Snow shadows

The wheels of the bus turn, churning the snow as we go over the pass from Idaho, a paved path threading through the mountains of Montana. We ascend. Lookout rises to 1,436 meters above sea level. Nothing to see. We descend. We slip and slide into the bowels of ancient Lake Missoula, now guarded by pines festooned with snow.

         we sit still —
         the moon shadowed road
         moves beneath us

The full Moon follows us. Out here there is nothing to watch in winter. It must be bored. Nothing scurries over the surface of white. Perhaps an owl hunting by moonlight. Perhaps not. The snow has muffled the trees' deaf ears against our passing. Our headlights pick up nothing but snow.

         pristine crystals
         shimmer in the moonlight —
         not one hoot

It's clear enough to see eternity. Few humans visit during the fleeting summer; fewer live here. The woods rejoice in our absence, stretching limbs to starlit skies, dark shadows stretching towards the North Pole in the moonlight, as if to grab us, almost touching, pulling back from our warmth and alien life forms encased in a moving tin can. Our sighting a mere moment to be forgotten by dawn.

         black pines —
         shadows alive at night
         die with the dawn

KE [177.290] (17.desember.2020)

In response to "writing is a piece of cake", my advice to wordy writers:

"Frosting may make a cake look pretty but if it doesn't taste good it doesn't matter. Talking about it is nice. A picture is better. But a piece in one's mouth and another sitting on the plate eager to be eaten is best.

Vomit 500 or 1000 words then rinse, wash and edit to 300. Get rid of the clutter. The right adjective is worth a hundred meaningless ones. 'Is' and 'the' tell me little and show me nothing. Evoke an emotion; any will do. If Hemingway can do it in 6 words you don't need 60 thousand."

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