Antemath. The state of being before an event, especially one of significance. That which comes before the mowing. A first-growth crop.
Late June, early July, a field of sunflowers. The darkening glow of a summer afternoon. A thousand golden faces tipped toward a retreating sun. This was Sacramento. A summer day. A handful of moments rescued from a day otherwise filled with obligations and polite work-conscious chatter.
I think of this field when I think of the word 'antemath.'
I think of grasses grown thick, the spongy feel of the morning beneath bare feet. I think of split ends and the wild electricity of hair on a humid day. I think of first dates, all that hope and expectation; fear. I think of first-born sons, daughters, marriages, all the promises the world has to offer. I think of a classroom, glue sticks and glitter, the day before the gunman enters.
I was in Sacramento today, attending yet another work meeting, traveling this time with a coworker, a friend. I tried to articulate the wonder of that stolen moment, a field of sunflowers on an afternoon otherwise insignificant. There were no words sufficient. And the field long since culled for harvest.
Blogger's Note: Antemath is not a real word. I wish it were. It fits in my mouth and in my mind as if it were, folding itself around a concept I do not otherwise have a name for. This is perhaps evidence that my vocabulary is lacking in some part.
Still, for the sake of the blog challenge, I have decided to focus my attention on words...words that are and words that should be. 'Antemath' is a should be word.
I was actually a little bit surprised to find out it wasn't a real word; less surprised to find I was not alone in using it. Good words are good words, no matter what Webster says.