Myth, the Universe, and Everything

I decided to read the region section of the New York Times online yesterday between patrons at the library and encountered a delightful article about faith. The writer in question was raised Roman Catholic, and is raising her children in the same faith, but is far more convoluted in her own religious beliefs than strict dogma allows. The intersection of her faith in her own life and in the legacy she presents to her children is charmingly written, so I thought it worth passing along.

And now, a teaser!

Imagine if you will a small ball-room, modest in its construction, but with doors that open onto delightful gardens, letting in what breeze might be had in the muggy summer months. Partners dance to a fiddle, as has become popular in recent days, listening for the steps to be called as their fingers lightly brush those of their partner. Women and men all wear white wigs, ridiculous in the heat, and some have powdered their faces to a paler shade, in which can be seen the path of sweat droplets from the exertion of the dancing. Along one side, older men chat, discussing business and smoking cigars. Just beyond the open doors, young people gather to flirt, still inside the view of their chaperones, but at the edge of that vision, giving some semblance of independence.

It was that scene precisely that I stumbled into, after finishing a dance with my cousin Abigail's husband, who had been kind enough to be sure I wasn't standing alone. The evening was far too warm to stay inside, and there was conversation to be had on the patio.

I missed Teaser Tuesday! I even had something for you guys. I just completely neglected to do any lj reading or writing yesterday. So, in repentance, here's a snippet of "Don't Let Go."

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The music filled her up from her toes, and there was movement and chaos and electricity, and her thoughts vanished as she enjoyed the moment, enjoyed the tension in the space between them, the way he never let his body get uncomfortably close to hers. Likely because our proportions are all wrong, she thought to herself, looking up as he loomed over head. He winked down at her, looking as full of the music as she was, as though the drum beat had become both of their pulses at once.

They danced through a second song, not talking, just being part of the music, two bodies on the dance floor. Thoughts floated through her mind, none of them sticking longer than a moment. She wondered what Jonas might think to see her dancing with a good looking Manx giant, far too tall for her and with far more piercings than she would normally look at twice. It crossed her mind that Fin really wasn't her type, although it would be helpful to know a local who actually knew something about the Isle, which could, in theory, prevent her from failing her independent studies. If all she liked about him was the attention--which was nice, she admitted--she'd probably better make that clear from the beginning. A person could always use more friends.

But then she looked up at him, saw his eyes closed as he felt the music more than heard it, watched as the lights that sprawled across the dance floor caught in his hair and his ear studs. Just a little while, she thought as her stomach squeezed. I'll pretend for just a little while.