Sometimes I overhear the music of everyday words drifting in from worlds foreign to me : come-along, cat's paw, shingle froe, adze; copper John, Matuka muddler, bunny midge, rusty spinner. Their rhythms, on a native speaker's tongue, lazily swirl and quaver; it's a little mesmerizing, and worth simply enjoying the language for its own sound.
Too often we want to understand, to confirm exact definitions, to parse meaning from the alternating minutiae and overwhelming in our lives. That's all fine and good, but sometimes we just need to give ourselves permission to simply be, to experience this 'now' for its own merit, even if we must mine deep to find it.
It's own language, it's own world - the world of heavy equipment. It gets in your blood until you'd rather watch a perfectly orchestrated concrete pour than a stage show.
ReplyDeleteWoot woot! Well said - I knew you'd like this one :-)
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