With the Headphones on Again, Marie

[Angela]

Another night, Marie’s visiting images include a man and a woman in a small boat, seated and facing one another; her dress has a small print, and is blue, and is too light for the weather, so she has put on a soft white cardigan. 

The man pulls the oars through the water as the sun rises a bit and turns everything to gold, making nearly all the shadows along the bank disappear, and rendering all insects harmless.

Suddenly, it warms and she sees a quick film of sweat on the man’s brow.  The woman leans and slides her hand into the water, which is calm, cool and shiny as glass, and she knows this is a cliché, but the water really is that way, except it lacks the dangerous brittleness of mirrors.

She scoops a handful of water, and as she lifts her hand, a bit of it rolls up the sleeve of her sweater.  Emptying her hand, so that all that remains are cool drops, she reaches forward and rests her hand on the man’s cheek, refreshing him.

Marie falls asleep, and when she wakes, she realizes she has left the couple out on the lake, and is dogged all day by a feeling of them being adrift and hungry.

[Ali Znaidi]

I enjoyed the vivid and fresh description of the scene.

[bolton carley]

but not the brittleness of mirrors and harmless insects.  you are amazing.  and i bet your mind works like this.  you worry about what is left open-ended.  brilliant imagery.

[Jeanette Cheezum]

Marie sounds like a fascinating person. Vivid 6.

[Ron. Lavalette]

This is perhaps the only time I've read about glassy water & enjoyed it.  Thanks.

[Stephen Torelli]

Warmhearted Marie, I think I like her.

[Angela]

Gita, you remember Venice and the basket of perfect golden pears in the shade of the home of the Borgias.  They floated, I think.  You touch me with your memory.  I had forgotten that piece until now.  Do not recall the title at all.  Thank you.

[Diana E. Backhouse]

That was gorgeous, Angela. I loved the fact that Marie worried all day about where she had left the couple

she had conjured up on drifting off to sleep. Brilliant!

[Jamie Hogan]

It's like a lullaby.

[Bill Floyd]

Dreams into waking, and back again.  Loved "...the dangerous brittleness of mirrors" and the image of her resting her wet hand on his cheek.  Such talent and imagination evident in these images, which exist on that border between drowsing and sleep.  I wonder if everyone falls asleep this way, or if writers are always making up stories.     

[Gita]

Am I making this up, or did you write a gorgeous piece some years ago about a man and woman in a boat in Venice? And if that is so, the woman in this boat, this time, is more in possession of herself, more in control.  What a lovely world in which all insects are harmless. I like the realism in the detail "where a bit of it rolls up the sleeve of her sweater."