Words - two words have been plaguing me all day. They've been gnawing so loudly even Lady Gaga's Paparazzi on full volume hasn't been able to drive them back. Tidally moving, but not straying far has been the phrase moveable feast. Easter is migratory, I know that. It wanders about causing timetabelling and educational difficulties. The shortest Spring term I remember was eight weeks and the longest nearly sixteen, so Easter is, clearly, moveable and feast-like.
I have not spent time thinking about Easter, people can do that in anyway personal to them, but I have had the phrase moveable feast doing the cha-cha-slide in my head.
They are both powerful and emotive words for me: ripples from the deepest, darkest place.
MOVEABLE:
FEAST:
The wonder of smells so tempting you'd risk nasal blisters to get your head close enough to draw them deep long before the food reached the table, and before it was truly safe to attempt it. Every meal has a feast's air of panic and military precision when cooking for large numbers: steaming bowls, bread by the loaf and the need to get in quick before it's all gone. The anticipation, the tacky-fingered, chin-encrusted, hard-stomach of enjoyment: the only sight that reminds me of how this felt would be good-natured puppies heading for their food bowl.
Ernest Hemingway describes Paris as "A Moveable Feast" devoured and yet always with you not matter where you go. I'd have to go with Childhood. When I yelled, what do you think of when you hear the phrase moveable feast? - my Minnow, prosaically, went with Macky D.
I'll relish reading what you think of when you hear - moveable feast