In quiet rows the serfs of the ocean deposited sun-painted shells and bits of stone upon the ivory sands. Shelled beasts, crustaceans, crabs all took to claw and carriage to dump their watery gains into storage piles.
No one knew why, for this is always what they'd done.
A rare sort of crab, with diligent fingerlike appendages and silent, beady eyestalks, ported the various ocean detritus into lines further away from the waterline. Orderly as any other, the speckled crew took their cues from a larger crab at the head of the assembly and sifted through size, color, and structure, filtering for hidden criteria and purpose.
Great swoops of wings marked the operation's supervisors, as seagulls and other avian assistants maintained rank and form through the process, cawing against winds and winding supply lines to create their storage depots.
No one knew why, for this is always what they'd done.
The lines ran above dunes of windswept sand and down over to inland ravines and reservoirs of murkier water, which the waves had not the privilege of stirring. There marched the task force with naught for stagger in step, through the beige hills and beyond, to another waiting station.
A hole in the sand, a glasslike pipe parallel to the sky above, lay, sunken yet guarded by the adjacent dunes. Its mouth shone with a light luminescence, a quiet brilliance as the sun meekly spouted its favor upon the seemingly-manmade contraption. There with neither pause nor ponderance strode the workforce, each passing their piece downward before scurrying back to the genesis of this procedure.
Giving no hint toward its endpoint, each creature drove itself, destined, toward this terminal to complete their quizzical quest.
No one knew why, for this is always what they'd done.
A rare sort of crab, with diligent fingerlike appendages and silent, beady eyestalks, ported the various ocean detritus into lines further away from the waterline. Orderly as any other, the speckled crew took their cues from a larger crab at the head of the assembly and sifted through size, color, and structure, filtering for hidden criteria and purpose.
Great swoops of wings marked the operation's supervisors, as seagulls and other avian assistants maintained rank and form through the process, cawing against winds and winding supply lines to create their storage depots.
No one knew why, for this is always what they'd done.
The lines ran above dunes of windswept sand and down over to inland ravines and reservoirs of murkier water, which the waves had not the privilege of stirring. There marched the task force with naught for stagger in step, through the beige hills and beyond, to another waiting station.
A hole in the sand, a glasslike pipe parallel to the sky above, lay, sunken yet guarded by the adjacent dunes. Its mouth shone with a light luminescence, a quiet brilliance as the sun meekly spouted its favor upon the seemingly-manmade contraption. There with neither pause nor ponderance strode the workforce, each passing their piece downward before scurrying back to the genesis of this procedure.
Giving no hint toward its endpoint, each creature drove itself, destined, toward this terminal to complete their quizzical quest.
No one knew why, for this is always what they'd done.
While this isn't the style of things I like reading -- which is interesting because I love thinking about the world this way in my head... but i don't like writing/reading it -- I liked reading this still.
Not yesterday night though. I tried reading this and I wasn't open to it. Reading it now, sipping a nice new-crop
funny you mention that to be honest. i had the same thought of style, i don't think consciously but kept thinking of those 19th century pushkins or otherwise (not to presume parity of prose)
those writers definitely have an amazing control of language. granted you're somewhat reading the translators' skills of writing, as well. i've always wanted to read those fluently in russian, or at least i thought i did in college. now it seems like so much trouble lol
There were German practice sessions and stuff after college that I attended. Did you do any practicing for your Russian after graduation?
I remember you also speaking way better German than me when we were at
When were you reading the 19th century russian novelists? I think I got into them right around graduation and then extending into my post college years.
And yes those Russian novelists really captured something that resonates with people like you, me, and
@abra ha i probably remember as much of my german as i do my russian these days. the only practice i get is just talking to myself like a crazy.
no, i actually didn't look for, but otherwise didn't find, any post-grad practice sessions near where i moved. i don't think there are many speakers in my area unfortunately. could have stuck to interpals i suppose but it's really speaking that makes you feel most connected.
we read them in russian class, somewhat. snippets of stories, short stories. i read crime & punishment in english, great book.