Sunday, March 11, 2012

Timed Writing: 3/7/2012

Time: 10 minutes
Source photo: IMG_2752 dpp i by Lotraw

The moon's face waxed large in the forward viewfield. I tried to look at the pocked, scarred visage with new eyes -- eyes like those of my passengers, eyes that had seen her only from Earth's surface. Some of the travelers may never have even looked at the moon through telescope or binoculars. The naked eye misses so much. It paints over details with a soft brush, blurring the edges. The cracks and fissures heal and the craters collapse. Depth is lost and the sphere becomes a coin, shiny, pretty, inviting.

Now I can feel the wonder and fear mounting in the hearts of my charges. I bear them to the ancient monstrosity -- to their new home.

As a child I looked at pictures of skulls in picture books about science and the human body. Later I held a skull in my hands and I learned the surfaces, the foramina, the fossae. I came to recognize origins of muscles and perforations for penetrating nerves and vessels. I numbered the teeth and probed the sinuses. A picture of a skull is not a picture anymore. It is a key to my more intimate knowledge. Even a jolly-roger flapping in jest in an earthly breeze reminds my fingertips of the smooth dry concavities of the orbits and the gentle curve of the zygomatic arch.

My passengers, now that they are seeing the moon's true face -- and even more, when the have lived and worked upon it -- will never see her from a distance again and think of her as a pretty coin. They will never remember her as warm, soft, smooth, or inviting.

(about my timed writing exercises)

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