Sluice – definition: 1) an artificial passage for water with a gate for controlling its flow; 2) a channel that carries off surplus water; 3) a long sloping trough (as for floating logs to a sawmill)
English: Sluice (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
What an amazing difference between these two water courses. One leaves us with thoughts of stale smelly water while the other is a thing of ingenuity and beauty. Both are methods of manipulating the flow of water to the human desire but the first is more of a practical bare bones nature compared to the ethestically pleasing structure in Italy.
This is a perfect example of how we can manipulate our words to give our readers a particular vision or image. As I looked at the first sluice I thought – dirty, smelly, slime, old, crumbling, ugly, decrepit. Whilst the second – bright, shiny, ingenious, metal, esthetically pleasing.
See this re-blogged post about the power of words.
As I was searching for a suitable picture for this post, I came across many images of puppies, abandoned buildings, sad looking children, graveyards and distress in many forms. The word is a very powerful image maker but it seems to be out of fashion when it comes to its use now-a-days. We have all read the classics where a woman is described as forlorn when her love is not requited or lost. The imagery of her gradually failing and becoming waif like is very strong.
Such an emotive word should not, I feel, be lost to the language of story telling. Of course we can use other words, such as desolate, bereft, miserable, wretched and even forsaken, which is in decline as well, I believe but forlorn is the ‘king’. A puppies pleading eyes can only be forlorn.
Forlorn, gone is the love of my life, happiness is destroyed.
Forlorn, dominated by grief, tears flow and flow, will never stop.
Forlorn, deep pain rips everything deep inside me, it is excruciating.
Time passes, really too slowly.
Time shall heal wounds, heal pain.
Time may you tell me, is it almost time?
Time let me know, when I’m free again.
The hope, I carry with me.
The hope, each day a new attempt to live, to survive.
The hope, find peace with the pain.
The hope, to break free from the shackles, let go the old things, finally find new happiness.
Also as it is Sunday Snippets – I have included a short piece from the 18th century period of my novel, The Twesome Loop. Gabriella has found her husband’s brother to be truly understanding and her affections are clear. When her husband William decides his brother has over stayed his welcome :
“It is time you took your leave, my brother, you have dallied here far too long. I will purchase the villa in Agagni and want you to organise it on my behalf.”
“You may want to inspect the building and grounds before the purchase, William. May I suggest you travel to Italy to see the details are correct?”
“I am confident you will ensure all the details are correctly documented, Arthur. I have organised a carriage to take you to Dover in the morning.”
Gabriella’s dismay must have shown on her face.
“Are you sorry to see my brother leave, my sweet?”
“I am – he has been good company these past few weeks. The tales of his travels have been most entertaining.”
“Well, you shall be travelling with me in a few months time to my new property in Italy.”
“I look forward to seeing Italy; from what Arthur has told me, it is very beautiful.”
The evening seemed to draw out for hours before William finally left for his room.
“Please do not leave me here with him, Arthur. He will surely subject me to his lusts once you are gone.”