The word of the day for November 21, 2012: HALL.
In the morning, you made me breakfast
You called it “Hall and Oatesmeal”
I rolled my eyes…
[anonymous oneword™ user]
The “(ooo ooo)” indicates that it just might be a song. One can only hope.
A hall can transport us into the past:
The low thrum of his voice carried itself across the tavern’s floor like a mist, Mystindil was at it again, telling his famed stories and more than twice the town’s residents had gathered for the harrowing tale. He knew as did everyone else, that his stories were taken from another Story-weaver from less than a century ago but with every story his interpretation pierced the doubts of the crowd, and he was able sway audiences with every pause and ballad. The man went down in history, as famed as the heroes in the tales.
A hallway can fill us with excited anticipation—or dread. Or somewhere between the two:
I walk down the hall, I sit in the hall, I stand in the hall. Hesitant, I start my steps again and continue down the hall, away from the door. and then I turn back, a surge of confidence powering my movement. I walk back to stand in front of the door, I reach out my hand to knock on the hardwood.
A hall is only a letter away from hell—or a halo:
angel kept secret by hell,
let me swim the golden
waters of your halo
Halls leave you wide open, vulnerable, with nowhere to hide:
Sara rounded the corner and stopped short. Standing directly in front of her locker was Laura and her friends. She wanted to turn around but she couldn’t. She took a deep breath and started toward them. “Oh, look who it is,” Laura sneered. Her friends all laughed. They blocked her locker. Sara stood there, at a loss for what to do. She had to get her math textbook but didn’t want to fight.
Halls can echo:
I followed her last night, she turned her head
as she walked down the hall
I followed her click clack stilettos
They snapped at me and made my jaw click metronome…
Or inspire a word that sounds exactly the same but means something entirely different:
he hauled across three time zones
In one day, meeting each one
With final sweaty heave, wry smile
Never knowing what he carried
The job, with its squared journey
And triangulated route
Took him from depot to delivery
To home, when there was nothing
Left to leave at any other doorstep
Halls can be empty, or filled with the most curious things:
with skipping rocks
with velvet windows,
and linoleum ceilings,
There’s a picture
chair missing its leg
And fake grapes
scent the air
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