…going over what’s come before before moving on. I’m a slow writer, always polishing, polishing as I go. Sometimes that’s frustrating but mostly it’s satisfying. Here’s a small section from today’s fiddlings:
I thought about her all day – as I was pounding the dye, as I was listening to the evening’s telling, as I was taking my bath. That night as I climbed to the sleeping hollows, my wet hair pleasingly heavy against my back, my skin still cool from the water of the reed pond, my thoughts were filled with her. As I lay in my nest of moss and blankets, I turned her over and over in my mind: Valentina. Valentina and her child. Valentina and her child walking the upper canopy. I fell asleep thinking of her and I dreamed we were there together: she and I on the wicker roof of the world, under a broadness of moon. She was dancing, her spear in her hand, her baby on her back. Lithe in the simplicity of her harvesting costume, she leapt and sun-wheeled and spun in a lovely solo performance of Primo’s dance. I watched on, no longer angry.
‘Isn’t she glorious?’ said Salvatore. I turned, and he was standing there, a full grown man resting his weight on a beautifully carved spear. He smiled down at me with the kind of calm, grave dignity that spoke of depths of self knowledge and understanding. ‘Isn’t she perfect?’ he said.