You’d think The Sunday Whirl should be renamed The Thursday Whirl!
I do take my time, don’t I?
But I do love the whirl and don’t want to miss out on shaping those fun words into my own mould.
wrath, key, charm, scramble, flees, upbeat, depth, shore, tumultuous, enable, swelling, rotten
Let’s pretend we’re two wind-tossed sailors singing an off key rough and ribald chantey while we labour on a Spanish caravel somewhere far away from land in the pearly-white light of an early morning on the gray Atlantic.
Our shallow breaths and our song swelling with the waves, and if we want to, we will drop the anchor and watch it sink down the aqua depths of our salty soul and enable us to rest our exhausted hearts in the gentle rocking of the sea.
We will wear long billowing sleeves and wield our jewel-handled hangers and parry and thrust in such an upbeat way that all pirates will scramble overboard for the safety of the tumultuous Atlantic rather than face our wrath.
We will sail until we’re pulled into the trade winds, our song a simple duo of voices tripping thru the salty air, following only the force of the planet’s currents, settling every now and then on some exotic shore, like a seagull, shrill and harsh on some unsuspecting ear.
No one will ever be able to catch us or pin us down or teach us charm, our song will go into no dusty anthology for posterity because we are no more than a moment’s half forgotten shadow which flees the land before a clouded sky and is whisked back into the storm.
And we will be rotten to the core and our song packed full of foul language meant only to offend shouted gruffly and gladly toward the uncaring blue sky.