Every day I link together a short string of words to post on my other blog, a small stone. (Don't tell Planting Words that I post there too, she might get jealous).
If my life (or my head) is full, I snatch them wherever I can find them and scribble them down before rushing off to 'the next thing'.
This week I've managed to find a little more space. On Tuesday evening I wrote my small stone in my head, and then had time to play with it.
A workman spits: the long glob flies. The sky is striped with pink and aubergine.
Long glob. They contain almost the same letters. Feel what the two words do to your tongue. That final 'ob'. The rhymes - flies, sky, striped. Spit and pink. The rhythm, like a stately dance. And then that last word, that seems separate from the rest of the sentence - alien, with strange vowel sounds. The slight echo of 'work' in 'ber', and the silky-soft g. Gggg.
Never mind what it means - there is enough in the sound of these 15 words to keep me happy until the cows come home.
PS I thought you'd prefer a photo of the clouds to one of spit
Causes Fiona Robyn Supports