If Purple Were A Dream
Analog collage on paper
For whatever reason, my muse likes to lure me awake between 2 am and 4 am to drop interesting thoughts into the midst of my sleep.
She cannot be willed back to silence; I have learned –
I snatch the pen and steno pad off the nightstand,
quietly retreat to our bathroom,
shut the door and in the dim light, take dictation.
Today began with a short poem and then she dangled this gem:
Adjectives, the emotional branch of our vocabulary.
Before I go any further, this disclaimer; I am not a linguistic marvel nor a professor of the English language. So, please, those of you who read this and are - hold your wagging Shakespearean tongues, your erudite comments, your red pencil corrections and simply enjoy this alphabet locomotion of a ride.
As an example of the critical revue adjectives play on the stage of writing, imagine reading this poem without the modifier, softly.
I sink into the quiet -
an oasis of stillness.
I drift back into sleep.
This six-letter word among words carries the poem into an imaginary place of down feathers, marshmallows, chubby baby cheeks, delicate fluff, gentle gazes, a whisper of a kiss. One word paints a kaleidoscope of romantic images.
You gotta admit, our language would be pretty dull without them.