Newest
WordsI sit here thinking about words or rather the assemblage of same and wonder why sometimes the impetus comes along on its own and other times its seems a forced matter. What exactly causes the words to come? I question whether we, as writers, are endowed with only a limited number of opportunities or whether there is an infinite universe of permutations available to us. I hope for the latter, which is a rather selfish way of looking at the problem but it would seem the only practicable one.Words
I am talking about an infinite number of variations like the philosophical argument that postulates a roomful of monkeys at an infinite numbe
by ~sahewitt
BermudaIn all the years I worked in a band with my brother, booked by an agent who did little to advance our career, we had little to be thankful for in regards to his lamentable efforts. One time, however, this agent, in response to a cancellation by one of his more favored acts, booked us into a job in a dance-hall showroom on the island of Bermuda. I say dance hall because this was the function that fell to us; I say show room for that was the role of the act with whom shared this billing.Bermuda
These, some local islanders, were a group of musicians who performed three one hour-long shows nightly of an island-cum-funk-band type review and
by ~sahewitt
November MorningI awoke today to a glorious November morning, the kind of mid-autumn day one presumably only reads about. The cloudless cerulean sky held much promise and it did not disappoint. I had consulted maps of the immediate area to which I had recently moved. These maps told of one Waller Mill Park, which encompassed a small reservoir. As I traversed the moderately trafficked country road that led to the park, I espied what appeared to be a trail in the adjacent wood.November Morning
On closer inspection, this indeed turned out to be a trail, albeit one paved with asphalt but after I entered the forest, stepped over a log or two and was at last free fro
by ~sahewitt
The BirdsThe earth beneath my feet, along the forested trail on which I was walking crunched from the abundance of acorns dropped there from the overhanging arboreal canopy. These intermingled with dried fallen leaves from this season as well as many seasons past from the looks of the leaf-carpeted forest floor. My footfalls disrupted the muted ambiance of the hushed woodland: crunch, crunch, crunch.The Birds
Throughout the tops, dried red oak leaves still clung resolutely to the early autumnal branches. These combined with their still living brothers and the soft suppurations of a breeze to produce an ethereal sound like the rustle of wings. Inde
by ~sahewitt
Favourites
No favourites yet.
Watchers
Journal
No journal entries yet.
deviantID
No deviantID yet.
Devious Info
- Current Residence: Williamsburg, VA
- Interests: music, books, photography
- Favourite band or musician: Vladimir Ashkenazy, Bill Evans, Radu Lupu
- Favourite genre of music: Jazz, Classical Piano
- Favourite poet or writer: William Styron,Willa Cather,Carson McCullers,Paul Bowles,Norman Mailer,Jane Smiley,Peter Matthiessen
- Personal Quote: I had a stroke; the stroke doesn't have me
- Tools of the Trade: At one time, it was my guitar; now it is this (computer) keyboard
deviantART Community Board
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
--
Previous PageNext Page