22.2.8 The Winter sun

[goldenlangur]

Winter sun 22.2.8

 

 

In the low winter sun stubbles of the paddy, long harvested, stand cinder dry. The black-necked cranes in a haze of dust scavenge further down by the river bed, now growing in its width. At the New Year archery contest, the low lying sun is welcome respite from the last few days of cold mists. We have offered prayers for the sun, the village headman announces at the start of the match. Rival archers yodel and jump as they hit or miss the bull's eye. The painted wood surfaces bounce lights as an archer takes aim and shouts of encouragement from supporters intersperse fiendish jokes of the competitors:

 

"Align your bow a little more to the left!"

 

followed by:

 

"No, no, we can see the face of your girl bang to your right!"

 

 

An experienced archer often disregards both outpourings as he squints in the glare of the sun.

 

The youngsters are soon bored and wander along the barren fields, calling out to the graceful winter visitors who graze calmly alongside the cattle. Older children and the women struggle with the smoke and heat of the open fires, as they prepare a repast for the village. But now instead of shelling walnuts and sharing dried persimmon and apple rings, the children head for the fridges for ice lollies.

 

Then as the ridges take on a crimson tinge, the sun drops out of sight without much ado. The oracle's song goes something like this:

 

The winter sun is low, it climbs higher and higher each day till its reaches the zenith at mid-summer. Without its low point, there is no high.

 

 

 

goldenlangur

[Aleksandra]

Wonderful picturesque story GL. You show here a lots of nice imageries with your power of description. Rich with words nice for ears. And all of that makes this story to sound very flowing and nice for reading.

 

I like a lot how you finish this prose story, again in a spirit of beautiful imageries:

The winter sun is low, it climbs higher and higher each day till its reaches the zenith at mid-summer. Without its low point, there is no high.

 

Well done GL.

 

Aleksandra

[goldenlangur]

Thank you Aleksandra for your warm words of encouragement.

 

My prose writing is quite rusty so I'm very grateful that you found much to enjoy in this prompt piece.

 

 

goldenlangur

[Tinker]

gl, This is as exotic, clear and musical as your poetry. In fact with a little paring it could probably be called a prose poem. I loved this snapshot of the winter sun in your part of the world.

 

~~Tink

[goldenlangur]

Hi Tink,

 

After the SW monsoon season, the winter sun is most welcome and most of our festivities take place in this cold season after the harvest and around the time of the winter solstice, the last snow, the new year - quite a long list it seems!

 

Thank you for your thumbs up. You're right about the "poetry" in this - in that I seem to be stuck in the prose poem or tanka mode!!

 

 

With appreciation,

 

goldenlangur