There are no clouds above me, just an endless wash of blue. I close my eyelids and the steady July sunlight turns them yellow and then orange inside. There is the smell of coconuts and warm skin on the wind. I can hear my children doing their best to outwit our Slip 'N Slide. Old and patched, this strip of plastic seems to have a will of its own.
I feel a book resting against my chest, the dark leather warm beneath my hand. I smile because I have made a new friend. This book is special to me. I've gladly taken what it's offered.
I've heard mixed opinions on Faulkner. Some people loathe reading his work, claiming it's confusing and too much effort. I had read random snippets here and there, but I had never attempted a whole book. Until two days ago, and now I willingly have Faulkner addiction. Unlike chocolate, this won't add to my hips. Though it might to my brain.
Reading The Sound And The Fury was like a walk by faith. My perspective became clear after I'd proved myself, and eventually, the intricate puzzle fit together. My mind sparked and flared and came to life. I love Faulkner. I love his specific style of tagless, punctuation-free stream of consciousness mixed in with present moment action. He gave me a gift with his artistry and brilliance.
Don't you love that kind of discovery? What new literary friends have you made this summer?
Any new beach books as well? Writing instruction books? Do tell, blogging buddies.
I've just finished A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man by James Joyce. Interesting, surprisingly theological. But that's another post for another day.
Now back to sunbathing and sipping my diet Coke with lime . . .