|
About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
|
Everyday Canvas #854166 added July 12, 2015 at 4:27pm
Restrictions: None
From the place where I'll write--in my imagination
Since this is a prompt-free day, I am going to write to a prompt from the many prompting books that I never use. This prompt is from 3 AM Epiphany, in condensed form.
Travel to a place where you’ve never been, in your imagination.
As long as I am imagining why don’t I imagine I am purchasing my own island in the French Polynesia? Not that French Polynesia will allow me to purchase anything from them, as anything French has a resistance to foreigners, but this will be part fiction, part my wishing for it.
------
Situated in the middle of the Pacific miles away from civilization, is my island--an atoll or a coral island, surrounded by blue-green clear water with sandy beaches all around it. As soon as the helicopter lands, I jump down not waiting for the letting down of the ladder.
The sand is so fine and milky white as it flows from my fingers... I laugh with delight for the craziness of what I have just accomplished.
Gaston, the guy in the helicopter who has been my right-hand man, laughs, too. “I can’t believe you did this,” he says, “You, the woman who loves crowded cities and her own creature comforts. Well here it is, all five acres of it.”
“Small, isn’t it for an island?” I say. “But this is all I need. I can write in peace here.”
“I had a receiver tower built in the back of the house,” he says. “You can get Wi-Fi and phone connection from the main island, if and when you’re lucky. You need anything, call me, or better yet, put a note in an empty bottle and let it loose on the ocean. If we’re lucky, I’ll get it faster than your phone call.”
He snickers. Wise Alec! Then he dumps my bags on the beach. I wave at him as the helicopter takes off.
The house is a cottage with a thatched roof, with solar panels installed on top. How they could do that is a conundrum. Inside the cottage are three rooms, sparsely decorated. That is, with minimal amount of furniture. I made sure that Gaston understood my need for not dusting and cleaning much. Kitchen is smaller than the bathroom. Perfect! Now I can do more cookouts with little to none cleaning problems.
What I love most is the wide porch that circles the entire house. This is where I’ll live the most, and this is my primary place to write, for sure.
Gaston figured it out well. There are built in seats and tables on the porch on all sides of it. Heck, I might even sleep here.
After dragging in my luggage, sandied or what—who cares, I take a stroll around the island. Good idea to do this every morning. This will help with the 10,000 steps I always plan to do but reach the count rarely.
The island is Y shaped. The outer arms of it lie very low, almost at sea level, but the navel of the Y is at least six feet off the sea-level, and this where my cottage is. There are trees, woods actually, on the back of the house. The front looks at a long floating pier with two boats on it. They both have oars. Gaston goofed on this one. If he thinks I am going to row to anywhere, he’s dreaming. To begin with, I like to keep the flabby wings on my arms for eternity.
A dog or a cat would love to share my island with me, and I’d never have to put them on a leash or keep them indoors against their wills. I must ask Gaston for my animals to be, when he drops by to bring groceries. I may be away from civilization but not that much. I just learned that Amazon is expanding its drone service to the Southern Pacific. Could they send me a dog on it…I wonder. Better yet, I’ll ask Gaston. Who wants an animal that is scared witless while being carried by a drone!
Anyway, I love my very special island. I think I’ll stay here for a good while. Let me see, what I’ll write from here next… I think I'll...
“Honey, when are we having lunch?” Sounding like an alarm clock, hubby suddenly materializes in front of me. I check the time on the right bottom of my laptop: 2PM! And no lunch!
So much for my island in the South Pacific. Dreaming is more fun when contrasted with reality, which is also very satisfying, especially if all I have to do is to heat up leftovers. 
|
© Copyright 2015 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
