NovemberGuest
06-18-2009, 10:30 AM
This is the rough draft for the first chapter of a stroy I'm writing. I think it could use some tweaking and would appreciate input. Thanks!
Chapter One
A fine golden mist - the kind that so often accompanies November mornings- hung like a curtain, draping the entire garden in its velvety splendor. And above it, a melancholy song arose:
“My sorrow, when she's here with me,
thinks these dark days of autumn rain
are beautiful as days can be;
she loves the bare, the withered tree;
she walks the sodden pasture lane.”
When the song was over, silence befell the garden.
“Your voice is so enchanting, Copernicus,” said Myrtle, “The birds themselves are afraid to sing, for fear of being outdone.”
“Ah, Myrtle,” he said, “They are only jealous because their song is not of you…such a song can’t help but be beautiful, even coming from me.”
She simply shook her head and sighed, “If a voice could be seen…I imagine yours would look just like this glistening haze that surrounds us.”
Glistening haze. Copernicus smiled. Myrtle was always saying things like that, making the ordinary, sound, well…extraordinary. That was why he loved her.
He felt something. A teardrop? On his shoulder.
“Myrtle, why are you crying?”
No. A rain drop. And another. And dozens more. Softly, at first, and then relentlessly. Every drop piercing the air like a dagger, tearing away at the fog, turning it into a wispy vapor, and soon, that too was gone. And when the fog had finally dissipated, so had the memory…so had Myrtle, evanesced away by the rain. Copernicus watched, until the only mist remaining was that which dimmed his eyes.
Alone now, he stood in the garden. As he looked around, he beheld nothing but decrepit trees, languishing remains of their former, flourishing selves. Among them, Copernicus felt in good company.
“You would have found them beautiful, Myrtle,” he whispered.
That was it…her only flaw, her tragic flaw: Myrtle could find beauty in everything. And that, along with her ability to make the ordinary seem extraordinary, was the reason Copernicus loved her…and, perhaps, the reason she loved him.
---------------
***The "song" at the begining is actually a peom (in case you didn't know) by Robert Frost called "My November Guest".
Chapter One
A fine golden mist - the kind that so often accompanies November mornings- hung like a curtain, draping the entire garden in its velvety splendor. And above it, a melancholy song arose:
“My sorrow, when she's here with me,
thinks these dark days of autumn rain
are beautiful as days can be;
she loves the bare, the withered tree;
she walks the sodden pasture lane.”
When the song was over, silence befell the garden.
“Your voice is so enchanting, Copernicus,” said Myrtle, “The birds themselves are afraid to sing, for fear of being outdone.”
“Ah, Myrtle,” he said, “They are only jealous because their song is not of you…such a song can’t help but be beautiful, even coming from me.”
She simply shook her head and sighed, “If a voice could be seen…I imagine yours would look just like this glistening haze that surrounds us.”
Glistening haze. Copernicus smiled. Myrtle was always saying things like that, making the ordinary, sound, well…extraordinary. That was why he loved her.
He felt something. A teardrop? On his shoulder.
“Myrtle, why are you crying?”
No. A rain drop. And another. And dozens more. Softly, at first, and then relentlessly. Every drop piercing the air like a dagger, tearing away at the fog, turning it into a wispy vapor, and soon, that too was gone. And when the fog had finally dissipated, so had the memory…so had Myrtle, evanesced away by the rain. Copernicus watched, until the only mist remaining was that which dimmed his eyes.
Alone now, he stood in the garden. As he looked around, he beheld nothing but decrepit trees, languishing remains of their former, flourishing selves. Among them, Copernicus felt in good company.
“You would have found them beautiful, Myrtle,” he whispered.
That was it…her only flaw, her tragic flaw: Myrtle could find beauty in everything. And that, along with her ability to make the ordinary seem extraordinary, was the reason Copernicus loved her…and, perhaps, the reason she loved him.
---------------
***The "song" at the begining is actually a peom (in case you didn't know) by Robert Frost called "My November Guest".