On this 1,111th day in a row of Daily Writing Practice, give me four lines of prose that have something to do with: one.
My fingers were numb again tonight, but for a very different reason: we harvested our strawberries for tomorrow's market in a windy downpour. I could barely feel the berries by the time we finished. Thankfully a warm shower solved that issue.
I stood in the doorway and surveyed the damage. The glass coffee table had been shattered, forks had been used to carve nursery rhymes on the wall, and all of my bowling trophies had been hammered flat. A sigh and a shake of my head were the only responses I could muster.
The one time I forget to give the kids their medication...