To “susurrate” is to make whispering or rustling sounds like an autumn draft pushing along dried leaves.
Countless other words also susurrate to the eye and ear. One that’s part of my essay collection’s title is “murmurations,” the elegant swooping dance of thousands of starlings as they flock.
Another is “efflorescence,” an aromatic term. Lilacs, actually wild trees, are a many-branched inflorescence. “Meandering” charms by both sound and definition.
“Glower” you get when you’ve mis-stepped. A “rhapsody” is an exaggerated expression of emotion. To be “harmonious” is to be agreeably blended, while “variance” means the opposite.
And I haven’t even gotten to “mayonnaise,” “desirous” or “wallow,” among so many others that susurrate. A starting hard C, K, P or similar letter stops a word’s whisper. Yet common speech is salted with whispers.
Most other word categories are problematic. Political debate, militaristic jargon and advertising spiels rarely provide susurration’s warmth.
It is through the mysterious rustles, the low-key sonorities of life, that we discover softness. Sometimes, in the swoon of a poem.
Words you whisper and let linger in the heart.
On Writing
When an Old Word is a New Friend
Writing in Exile, Reading for Home
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