June 17th, 2006

Japan - Autumn Leaves Geisha

Night Owls

Because I'm up late with nothing to occupy my time, I created a comm for night owls. It be here. figured it might be nice to have a place to find company on nights like this :)
Japan - Autumn Leaves Geisha

Different Translations

As I think I said earlier in the week, the fic I'm working on has been partly inspired by a Japanese poem, and it derives its title "Takasago's Pines" from it. Since then, I've found an alternate translation, and I'm not sure which to use.

The first one, the one I read originally:

‘Who is still alive
When I have grown so old
That I can call my friends?
Even Takasago's pines
No longer offer comfort.’

This is the one I came across more recently:

'Whom then are there now,
In my age (so far advanced)
I can hold as friends?
Even Takasago's pines
Are not friends of former days.'

I'm leaning towards the second translation.

The mood of the poem has set the mood for the story, and was what led me to the drabble I wrote last night. That takes place a few years after the events in this story, but the stage is being set for that future here. As I said to Nin, "Takasago's Pines" is the lull between two storms.

Hopefully, I can get some more done on it tonight, because I think I'm in the right mood to get what I want out on the page.

I'll try and not babble any more tonight :) Blame the margarita and volcano cake I had at Chili's an hour ago: Sugar/Alcohol buzz.

Japan - Autumn Leaves Geisha

Another Day, Another Drabble

[sigh] I committed drabble. This one I blame on killabeez :)

Methos stood on the cliff, the ocean a maelstrom below him. Surely the roar of the crashing waves was no more violent than storm that raged in his soul. Could what they were survive? Or were the broken pieces of that life beyond mending, beyond healing? He didn’t know anymore. Didn’t know if the pain of even the attempt was something he could bear. So much had been lost that his impulse was to disappear, remake himself, and to leave this life behind like so many withered autumn leaves. Leave before the first brush of winter could touch his heart.

Okay, now can I work on my story? [baps muse] I really want to write the bit where Methos is the apothecary for the court of Henry VIII at the very least!

BTW, the entire Highlander Drabble Tree can be found here. Many wonderful pieces for you to read.