Write a four line poem about something or someone that is: unwanted.
It rained all the way to Penticton this morning, but thankfully it stopped right around opening. Clouds kept the sun away the rest of the time, but at least they didn't insist on dumping rain on us.
The berries went quickly, as expected, and the plants sold decently. Overall it was a pretty good market, all things considered.
I am flattered,
I must admit it...
But hourly flowers?
You have to quit it!
Write four lines of prose about: the message.
We collected thirteen pints of strawberries this morning, two unexpected pints of raspberries this evening, and a few bags of greens to go with our (still too large) collection of plants to bring to the market tomorrow. Hopefully we won't be bringing too much of it back home!
This afternoon I went for my quarterly blood test, which I plan on actually staying on top of for once now that I a) have a family doctor, and b) actually like her. Anyway, on top of that I'm also getting my blood type tested since Kat is O negative. I wasn't aware of this before, but apparently if mine is positive she'll need to take a shot of some sort if we have any interest in having another baby.
One of the people at the medical lab told me that a hundred years ago we wouldn't have even been allowed to marry with conflicting blood types. So, um, hurray for modern times?
I reach for my phone the moment the man in the black suit enters my office and my heart sinks when I discover there's no dial tone. He is carrying a duffel bag in his black-gloved hands and without a word places it on my desk.
He unzips it slowly and begins to unpack it; my breathing becomes ragged and sweat breaks out all over my body at the sight of the hammer, pliers, and toothpicks.
"Good evening, Mr. Sanchez," he says as he picks up the hammer, "our mutual friend Mrs. Matthews has asked me to deliver a message to you."
Stealing (and tweaking slightly) a prompt from tonight's local writer's group meeting, your word to work with today is: again.
It's late and I'm tired, so I'll just share what I wrote at the meeting.
Between us, Kat and I got a lot of weeding, seeding, and yard work done today. Tomorrow we're back to the market prep before returning to the farmers market on Saturday morning.
"Darn it, you've done it again!"
I brought my hand to stillness and breathed silently through my nostrils. My eyes blinked of their own accord as I searched for words of calm and reason.
When none came I resorted to my standard fallback plan: anger and confrontation.
"Done what again, exactly? Done what you've told me you wanted me to do? Followed your every instruction, no matter how insane it may have been? Please, do tell: what have I done wrong?"
"Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young man! Didn't your mother ever teach you to respect your elders?"
"My mother taught me plenty. How to stand up for myself. How to speak my mind, how to know when enough is enough."
"So what, are you quitting on me, is that it?"
"Quitting isn't the word I would use."
"Sure it isn't. You've probably got twenty fancy words that all mean the same thing. But at the end of the day it's all loser talk."
I stared at the tip of the wrinkled finger she was pointing at my face and considered my options. Reaching out, grabbing it, and breaking it seemed the most satisfying. Also, the most likely to land me in jail.
Instead I rose from my chair and began to pack up my supplies. As she began to gather wind for another assault on my character, I spoke first.
"I'm done here, Mrs. Rockford. You'll just have to find someone else to paint your portrait. Though I should warn you: whoever you get to replace me is very likely to, as you put it, make you look fat. Because you are. Hideously so, in my opinion."
With that I wished her the best of luck and left.
It's been long enough since the last time (also, I am very tired and can't think of a prompt), so today we're doing: continuations.
Just pick up the story where the last person left it and carry it onward for a little while.
We harvested for the restaurant this morning. Came away with: two pounds of swiss chard, two pounds of spinach, two pounds of salad blend, just over two pounds of snow peas, five pounds of rhubarb, and four and a half pounds of strawberries.
I was planning on getting a picture but by the time we finished I was running a bit late for the delivery. I'll try to get one next week.
The shadows are creeping closer. I shrink away from their touch but there is no escaping their relentless pursuit, their gloomy grip. Day is stepping aside and night is eager to assume control once more.
Life becomes simpler now, more focused. I suppose I should be grateful for that. The many complications and decisions that call for my attention during daylight hours melt away, leaving me with a single thought, a solitary purpose.
Survive until dawn.
Write two haiku about: symptoms.
Helped Kat's parents put the nets on their cherry trees today. Not my favorite job, but it needs to be done if we want any sort of crop out of them. The birds had already done a number on a lot of the trees by the time we were finished.
Fighting a losing battle with technology tonight. I'm going to bed.
I don't need doctors,
these hallucinations will
clear up on their own
* * *
I am not crazy.
If you don't believe me, ask
my dog. He talks now.
Four lines of prose about: reflections.
Laptop might have died this afternoon. If you're reading this then it still hasn't been fixed - I'm scheduling this post from the library.
Fingers crossed it isn't an expensive or prolonged problem.
The water is as still as a grave, reflecting the storm brewing overhead as though it were a liquid hand mirror. A man sits on the grassy shore, knees drawn up to his chest, his unfocused gaze on the pond.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, louder and more threatening than the previous grumbled warning.
And the man thinks, It won't be long now.
Weather permitting, all of a sudden. I'd like my sunshine back now, please and thank you.