My favorite magazine, Oxford American, publishes a special summer issue every year inviting writers to submit their Best of the South stories for publication. The pieces are witty, charming and usually titled "Ode to a ..." (fill in the blank: this year's issue had such titles as "Ode to a Soda Fountain" and "Ode to Screaming." I decided to write my own. I've titled it:
Ode to a Surfing Blog
Words and waves. Waves by words crashing into the computer screen, each word meaning something more than just its original intent. Soaring, sailing words give action to the surf, the rip-tide, the cross current. Riding a curl brings the words back full circle to the origin of the wave ... the idea ... back to when it was just water washing away the sand, lapping up against the shore where kids play in waist-deep water with bright-colored floaties around each arm while being watched by nervous mothers nearby discussing their sons' behaviors in school and listening to seagulls cry, beg for pieces of pb&j sandwiches that could be compared to words in a blog that may or may have meaning to the sunglassed reader who is sitting on the striped Banana Tropic, yellow and orange beach towel. Words, waves remain important to the surfing reader and writer who shares the intensity of loading a bright, yellow and purple surfboard on top of her car, driving to the beach, unloading the board to place it in the wave's ending and swimming, stroke by stroke, out to where waves begin so that, later, she can, stroke by stroke, pull words together to express the exhilaration of riding the wave into the shore where it will start again.
No comments:
Post a Comment