My Locus Amoenus

Sanctuary

This is in response to the Daily Post’s Word Prompt for Sanctuary.

I haven’t been around much, I know. I apologize for this, sophisticators. Things have changed in two year’s time. I have much to say and not enough pairs of ears, or rather eyes in this case. Anyway, this post is to be dedicated to the daily prompt.

So you’ve probably heard about the Locus Amoenus, right? It’s Latin for ‘pleasant place’. In fact, it’s rather more of a landscape. Now, we all know how much I love the trees and nature (a lot), so with that in mind it does become my sanctuary, but in reality I do believe my Locus Amoenus is within me…or rather in my mind.

And sometimes when I don’t follow my own thoughts, I often hear chimes in the back of my mind…as if coinciding with the strains of an angel’s harp. A nocturne plays and I find myself swayed over the borderlines of reality, a vast inception that exists deep within my imagination.

I am untouchable there. You should be too.

 

 

 

 

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En pointe.

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The elegance.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Got Skills.”

Don’t ask me why my talent would be something so redundant. It just is. I usually don’t have redundant dreams so let me indulge here for being a true girl, all right?

In truth I’m a jack of all trades, a master of none. You’ve heard that saying before, right sophisticators? It means I can do a mediocre job on just about everything, but I’ve mastered none. Nothing. There isn’t a single thing I can do with such proficiencyย that it can be credited to any sort of mastery.

The WordPress Gods however have endowed upon me a set ofย skills.

I would love to be able to dance ballet, or just have a barre regiment. I’ve been thinking about it more and more as I change up my workouts that perhaps I should incorporate this dance as it’s said to be tough. The one reason I haven’t: I don’t know a thing about dancing. I’d have to sit there for hours and hours on the internet studying movements and hoping that I get it right. It’s not simple exercising. You could very easily screw this up.

Now the why part. Why, pray tell, would A Sophisticate want to do this torture? Discipline. I admire a dancer’s discipline more than a soldiers. I admire their physique the most I think. And I hope to achieve that strong core soon. How the admiration came to be, I’m not sure. But whereas the world is divided into Type A’s and Type B’s, I’m actually scientifically credited as a Type C. As in I do what I want.

I should get that on a t-shirt.

I’d love to be a Type A.

Notice how I’m avoiding the use of the term ‘ballerina’? It’s because of it’s frilly connotation. I can’t have the people I know who read this blog to lance around saying, “A Sophisticate wants to be a ballerina everyone! What a childish dream!”

Notice I said ‘lance’.

I’m quite punny that way.