“Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the [writer] may amplify and expand its meaning.”
—Poetry Foundation
So, today’s micro-fiction features ekphrasis wherein I build a story out of the painting called Indian Summer.
***
The sun is as warm as her breath. She lies on her back, lost in the lingering sensations of summer. Her thoughts are of the things not meant to be.
‘There was a face, and oh, a voice. How strong the intoxication. I have the gossamer to prove it. He was a golden gossamer thread leading outwards into the world. His mountain, my mountain, his words fitting into mine like two clasped hands. I said yes, and yes, and yes, but all the meaning eventually bled out of this. Why? Oh God, I asked, and received no answer, not from Him, nor from him, nor from the Indian Summer of my fate.
And I lie here remembering—the sun consoling me—for the betrothal was to be mine. The hot breath of summer on me. Words like petulant flowers lolling in time to his weight on me. Fingers and strands of time pushing and stretching. Here is my recompense. Here is my misfortune, and here is the seed I will grow and treasure. His flower, my flesh and blood.’
Thanks so much, David!
Gossamer. Such a strong thread. This peasant girl is as much enmeshed as enraptured by reverie of recollection she's enjoying. Her life is changed. All indeed for her is changed, Not just by the joy of having, let's say, been cocooned in a web of romance but having been her spider's willing co-spinner. Indian Summer will give way to the onset of Autumn and she will find her present emotion changing with the season. Her life she will soon realise is all changed, irrevocably.
A really well-turned ekphrasis Camila. As the picture provoked fresh art from you, so your words provoke me to reflect on the possibilities of the scene.