Monday, November 18, 2013
Years ago I did a treatment for a children's story. I read some of it on the air. I never got it to work though. The story was a good one, but just didn't jell.
That is till I realized it wasn't supposed to be a story...not exactly. "Beulah's Window" was a descriptive few lines in the middle of a long confused narrative.
I scarped away all the static, and let those few line free.
The window was a symphony of dreams. The window was composed of dozens of shards. Cast off bits of stained glass that Beulah the Forest Woman, Beulah the Witch, Beulah the Angel had assembled into Magic.
As the afternoon sun played across it. Here was illuminated a hand fragments of clouds. There a lily there a smile. Then a yellow crescent moon.
Throughout were floating embers of deep blue bright reds shades of gold fragments of turquoise. In it's upper portions were bits of alabaster doves, and a spray of purple, and rose.
Such was Beulah's Window.