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Life is made of small moments, indeterminably precious Jewels of great value whose value cannot be caught up in words, trussed up in the silken tongues of scholars…

For who can truly capture in words the moment the deer stops, neck curved, a graceful bow bent, to drink the sharp icy water of a passing stream…who can capture the moment of that head’s rising. Water dripping from pale white beard as pale white flag is raised in alarm and off on four fleet feet does the racer fly. Dancing through the underbrush….

And who can burn into paper the way rain falls just so on a hot tin roof in the middle of summer during an unexpected rainstorm.  Steam dancing from searing hot metal as drops explode into a million, million shimmering shards and the lulling beat of a thousand drops sings a lullaby in my ears

It tests my mettle to try.

Try to describe how joyful it is hen a rainbow breaks between to clouds a simple streak of flashing colors that touches the ground nowhere. And billows soft in the sky only to vanish in the blink of an eye, transformed into warm white light once more

The taste of hot summer strawberries fresh from the open air market the moment one bites into them.  Who can capture in word that sharp splendid sweetness that explodes to cavort in the mouth of the happy cornflower eyed babe of summer who dances giggling in the sprinklers moments later.

Who can live such moments through the words of others when the moments themselves, oh so fleeting, cannot be captured in the shadowed words of thought

The best moment is one experienced.

So why bother to try at all?

Why does a writer write?

To photograph a moment and live it to it’s fullest
To drain that last drop of sweetness from the ripened fruit of life that flourishes in a moment and is gone the next…

I write to capture in the searing blackness of my ink, the innumerable hues of a hot summer sunset that bathes the world in flaming oranges and vibrant living frothy roses, lilacs and violets.

I live to watch the rain falling on a broken glass bottle in a darkened back alley sweltering as I strive to capture the moment on paper sitting under a rusted, broken fire escape that offers no shelter from the swaying steam rising off the pavement and into the darken dusky sky.

I desire to capture just one. More. Time. The tangy smell of freshly mown grass full of purple clover flowers on a hot summer Sunday.  The feel of the chink of the melting ice in the glass of lemonade in the mower’s hand after a hot mornings work…

This is why…I write.

To live life in the precious fleeting moment, that is here one second and gone the next.
just a little prose piece on the motives for writing
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LuxInvictus Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2004
You know what, I've been thinking about this on and off since you put it up, which is out of the ordinary for me. There's just something about it....

It also strikes me I haven't commented on it, either. So now you get a comment. And a fave. {faves}
TailsDX Featured By Owner May 25, 2004
Me likey this! Oh by the way I'm sorry If I spoiled the 1st rolling stone RP on SVT Shade. It's me Tails DX! ^_^

*Adds to faves*
julieanshar Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2004
Amen, sister. :) I like the description of the deer.
TheStarsInYourEyes Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2004
I like this.. im adding it to my favorites
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Submitted on
March 24, 2004
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