Write about: the camp.
We seem to have reached the end of another September... tick tock, tick tock.
Quiet day off here, though I did manage to accomplish a couple of things around the house. All set to harvest tomorrow for our lovely band of locals.
For the third straight night no fires were permitted, so when nightfall arrived it brought with it bone-chilling cold. Threadbare clothes and tattered bedrolls were no match against the icy breath of the moon.
Other than the irregular chattering of teeth, the men suffered in silence. Their leader was pleased by this discipline, though he would have preferred if it had been internally motivated. He did have to admit, however, that he had made a particularly effective example out of Rhodes the previous night.
They had no way of knowing exactly how close their pursuers were, but their unseen presence grew heavier with each passing hour. The gap was shrinking, shriveling, crumbling to dust.
Soon flight would have to be abandoned.
Soon a stand would have to be made.
Write a four line poem that has something to do with: brains.
Very busy market this morning, as there seemed to be a much larger crowd of people out and about as compared to last week. We did quite well with our apples, particularly the Ambrosia, and most of our veggies sold as well.
Looking forward to some quality time with my bed tonight.
What are there, like eleventy-billion circuits?
To be honest, I'm not really certain.
But there is one thing I can tell you for sure:
Not a single one of mine are working.
Write four lines of prose about: yesterday/today/tomorrow.
You can follow my example if you wish, or branch off and do something new and exciting.
That was a long harvest day. I am tired and have nothing of interest to say, so we'll just get on with things, shall we?
Yesterday I fell short of the man I wish to be. Today was somewhat better, but there were still far too many mistakes and pratfalls for my liking. Tomorrow... tomorrow I shall stand tall, rise above my shortcomings, stay true to my values, and be the man I've always meant to be.
And the cycle continues, forever unbroken.
Tell me a little something about: the crew.
I wrote mine in a small coffee shop in Penticton while I was waiting for Kat to finish her appointment with a chiropractor, who was hopefully sorting out her sore hips. As of tomorrow she'll be at 34 weeks, so it's not surprising that things might need a little readjusting at this point.
Currently having some fun with my photography. Will share details once I finally finish getting organized.
Dusty Evans sat in his office and waited for the phone to ring. It should have rung ten minutes ago, but he wasn't worried. Not yet.
Another five minutes of silence would likely change that.
He rose from behind his desk - an antique he'd picked up years earlier on a business trip to Italy - and moved slowly to stand at his window. He'd intended to gaze down upon the mindless ants clogging the sidewalks thirty-five floors below, but instead found himself staring at his reflection again.
Where did all those grey hairs come from? I know I'm not a young man anymore, but surely this is too soon? I wonder how old Jessica thinks I am...
Dusty had hired Jessica the previous week to replace his last secretary. Melissa had been a little too chatty for her own good and a decision had been made about her future.
The phone came to life at last, fourteen minutes after the arranged time. Dusty brought the receiver to his ear and remained silent.
"Boss, it's Charles."
"I thought I asked David to -"
"Yeah, but I'm the only one left," Charles cut in, rather unwisely. "Dave and the rest of the crew all got busted by the cops."
Write about: grooming/groomed/groomers. Any one of those, whichever catches your imagination.
Kat and I decided to spend the day focusing on having fun with each other, rather than on the imminent arrival of our baby. Sort of a final date day when it's just the two of us, though it was so much fun that I'm not convinced it will be the last one.
We went for a short walk this morning on a trail we'd seen signs for many times but had never actually been on, then had lunch at a winery restaurant we hadn't had a chance to try yet. After making pancakes for dinner we watched a movie on Netflix and called it a night.
Tomorrow we're back to baby business but it was definitely good to take a break from it.
Tyler closed his front door behind his departing guest and allowed exhaustion to pin him against the nearest wall. He'd been convinced that he was up to the challenge, but after just three evenings on his latest job he was ready to give up.
It's not that he wasn't qualified for the work he'd agreed to do. He had triple the experience the classified ad had been asking for and a degree from a more respected school than his employer could have reasonably hoped for.
But this... he wasn't sure how much longer he could last.
The paycheck. He had to focus on the paycheck. If he made it to the end of the month he'd be debt-free; a week or two beyond that and he might actually be able to afford a birthday present for his girlfriend.
He pushed off the wall with a groan, aware that if he remained there much longer he'd be woken by the sunrise and spend the next day working a monstrous crick out of his neck. That would only make work even more difficult than it already was.
Tyler's last thought as he collapsed into bed, just before sleep stole him away for a few hours of sweet relief, was to wonder whether any man could hope to maintain his sanity while grooming a four-year-old girl to be the next president of the United States.
Write two haiku about: toughness.
Or, follow my lead and write a Double Haiku*.
*No, I have no idea if that's actually a thing, and if it is whether or not it's actually called that. I could look it up, but I'm lazy. So... yeah.
This morning I finally got around to putting some nets over our remaining corn. Hopefully that will keep the cobs protected from those friggin' crows, since throwing tomatoes from halfway across the garden wasn't really doing the trick.
Well, I mean it worked temporarily, but they kept coming back. I'm looking for a longer term solution here.
So you think you're tough?
Let me tell you something, kid.
Listen up real good:
I've been killing men
since you were swimming around
in your daddy's balls.
Today's theme is: outnumbered.
Inspired by the ridiculous number of flying insects that were creeping me out this afternoon while I waited on the deck for our local customers to collect their produce. I don't know what those things were, but at least they didn't bite.
Though I will say that I'm not a big fan of the one that landed in my ear.
Good harvest day, got everything we needed out of the garden. Three more box program days to go!
There's a certain satisfaction involved in overcoming the odds, a sensation that is difficult to achieve by other means. It provides a small taste of what it's like to be the hero, to have eyes filled with respect follow your every move - if only for a little while.
An addicting feeling. Harmless, when the stakes are low and defeat is as inconsequential as it is expected.
But as the stakes rise, so too does the danger. The temptation to embrace foolish risks increases. Much can be lost... but then, so too is there much to be gained.
And that, my friends, is where the real glory lies.
Time to do some more continuations.
Carry on the story from where the last person left it, and then try to leave it in a reasonably interesting spot for the next person to deal with. Click the label at the bottom of this post to see how previous attempts turned out, if you're new to this or just wish to reminisce.
We had a quiet one here today, enjoying another warm September afternoon by spending it at the beach. Back to the local harvest tomorrow.
On a crisp fall evening many years ago, two men sat in silence outside a mutual friend's home, awaiting his return. The building was a simple, one storey affair located in a large clearing hewn out of the surrounding woods. The porch attached to its front was adorned with naught but two rocking chairs, which the two men occupied.
Their silence was not one which I would describe as comfortable. Disgruntled, perhaps. A necessity, if arguments were to be avoided.
Each accepted the other's presence as a requirement for their purpose there. Their shared goal could not be accomplished by a single man, and awareness of that fact sabotaged any potential friendship between them.
They believed that they knew where their friend was and when he would return.
As it turned out, they were mistaken on both accounts.
Write a four line poem which must begin with: Cooking in the kitchen with...
End the opening line as you wish and then use the other three lines to tie it all together. Inspired by the amount of fun I had making a stir-fry for dinner this evening. It's really one of my favorite dishes to make, as there's lots of room to get creative with ingredients.
Bit of a slow market this morning, but still a decent one. Things should pick up again next week since we'll have our first selection of Ambrosia apples, which are always popular.
Cooking in the kitchen with me,
There's one thing so plain to see:
If you don't like my culinary play,
Best shut up and get out the way.
Write four lines of prose about a man named Stinky.
I actually have a character with that nickname in one of my Protagonize stories, but he's, ah, not what I would consider to be a good fit for the content on the blog. Yes, I shall put it that way.
Back to the market tomorrow morning for the second last one of September. Then we get four more in October and we are done for the year.
You know, assuming somebody doesn't decide to arrive early and our focus shifts to more important things.
At my school there were many things about Stinky McGee that us kids knew without ever having to say out loud. Firstly, McGee was not his real last name - though by 8th Grade nobody could remember what it actually was.
Additionally, we were deeply grateful that the teacher in charge of school plays never selected Stinky to be involved as one half of the two person costumes (you know, the donkey, the horse, that sort of thing).
And we were absolutely, one hundred percent certain that poor old Stinky would never, ever win a game of Hide and Go Seek.
Write an excerpt from a guidebook.
It can be for anywhere or anything you like. The possibilities are nigh endless!
Harvested for a small bakery order this morning and then delivered it, all while managing to forget I needed to do other things in town. So after lunch I went back in, but made it more worthwhile by bringing Kat with me to check out the local photography group's exhibition at the art gallery.
Some very cool photos in there. Makes me want to drag my butt out to one of their meetings even more than before. Perhaps the next one in October?
Do It Yourself Tooth Removal Techniques - Chapter 15
Now that we've covered the most basic tooth removal techniques, it's time that we discuss some of the more advanced strategies. In this chapter your list of necessary equipment will most definitely shrink; however more effort will need to be invested in locations and creativity.
Let us begin with Technique 79: Bear The Pain.
For this one all you need is ten to fifteen feet of string, depending on your local environment - we'll explain how to determine how much you'll need in a few moments, so bear with us. Start by securely tying one end of the string to the tooth you wish to extract. Once you've done that, you'll want to head down to your local zoo.
Make your way to the bear enclosure and assess the situation. If the distance between the exterior of the cage and the actual bears is greater than the length of string you have on your person, you'll need to go fetch something to extend it.
We'll carry on with the assumption that, one way or another, you've got the right length of string. Next up, you just have to toss the end that's not tied to your tooth into the bear enclosure. Perhaps coat it with a bit of honey first, to make it more enticing to the silly creatures.
Now just wait for one of the bears to take hold of your string, take a deep breath, and insult his or her mother at the very tip top of your lungs.
Our challenge today is: getting reacquainted.
You can do what you like with that prompt, but I'm choosing to revisit a couple of characters that I have not written for much, much too long. Though Greg might suggest that it has been about the usual amount of time for me.
Sorry about that.
Final prenatal class went tonight. Really glad we took it, as I'm feeling much more prepared now. Still plenty of questions remaining, obviously, but at least I know which ones I need to ask.
"Well Red," Ben said as he pulled the train's fourth and final cargo door shut, "I'd say we truly earned this one."
"Indeed we did, my friend."
That was putting it mildly, really. The job had begun long before we'd stepped foot on that train.
Once we'd determined the exact location we'd bring the cash on rails to a halt, we tied up our horses, left them with enough feed to keep them alive for a week, and made the two day hike back to the station. We carried only food and water, not bothering with niceties like extra clothes and soap.
We'd both been pretty relieved to see that outdoor shower at the hotel next to our destination.
Ideally we would have just blocked the tracks and jumped aboard when the train screeched to a halt. But there was hardly a curve to be found in that stretch of dirt and the driver was a paranoid fellow who was well known for his use of a spyglass to avoid ambushes.
Alternatively we could have split up, but the man left waiting in the wilderness would have worried a hole through his gut wondering how the man on the train was doing. Not that either of us would have ever admitted to that.
"Maybe next time we can pick an easier target," Ben said over his shoulder as we moved through the trees on our way back to the horses.
"Maybe." Easy wasn't really our style, but there was guaranteed to be a next time. Even with the haul we were dragging through the woods, neither of us would ever consider hanging 'em up.
"Uh, Red?" Ben had stopped a few steps in front of me, blocking my view of what lay ahead. I came up beside him and quickly saw the problem: no sight of our mounts, other than two broken ropes drooping from the pine trees we'd left them hitched to.
"Looks like something spooked the poor fellas," I said with a sigh. "Nothing for it but to track them down."
"It's days like this," Ben muttered as he reached for a fresh cigar, "that makes me think we could really use a third man."
Write two haiku about: the answer.
Another local order day over and done with, four more to go until the end of our inaugural box program season. I'm a little tired of it now, but I'm sure I'll miss it once it's finished for the year.
It's pretty smoky out there right now, with the various forest fires going on in the area. Seems like the worst of it is coming from the south, so hopefully they get things under control down in Washington State pretty quickly.
He asks the question,
certain he knows her response -
of course she says no.
* * *
Multiple choice quiz:
only one right answer and
it hides in plain sight.
Write about: the last resort.
Class number three in our prenatal series went tonight. It was a bit of a heavy class, focused on all of the various medical interventions we could possibly end up using, from IVs to epidurals. We're hoping that few, if any, of them will be needed, but I'm feeling much more informed about our choices if it does come to that.
One more to go on Wednesday night, which should be a much lighter class - in that one we finish off by talking about babies and what in the world we're meant to do with them in the first two weeks after we bring 'em home.
Because after that they start taking care of themselves, right?
The red button on the control panel waited patiently as the uniformed man paced back and forth in the cramped office. It watched as forgotten papers were trampled, kicked into corners and under chairs.
It held its breath every time the man came to stillness and stared at it. The doubt and confusion in his eyes seemed to grow less every time he did so. It was only a matter of time.
The button increased its glow ever so slightly at each pause, as though it could pull the man's finger to its surface if only it shined brightly enough.
The man resumed his traverse of the room once more. But with greater reluctance this time, the button was sure of it. It watched as he placed his hands on the window sill and stared outside at the gathering darkness. Shoulders slumped, chin fell to chest.
Yes, it was truly just a matter of time now.
Write a bit about: the wreckage.
Quiet morning on the deck, lunch at a nice restaurant in town, restful afternoon and evening at home. That's a pretty good Sunday in my books.
I feel like there was something else I wanted to talk about today, but I can't remember what it is. Oh well.
Which briefly soared and roared,
Now smoulder on the ground.
And blackened letters a
Shattered friendship is found.
With clung to sighs and lies,
No rebuilding is done.
Side only focuses
On which of them has won.
Write a four line poem about: bagpipes.
I don't know what your opinion of bagpipes might be, but I would hope that you'd agree that hearing them being played full blast directly across from your farmers market stall at nine o'clock Saturday morning, when you've been awake since five o'clock, is not particularly pleasant.
Thank goodness dude got rotated to another busker spot after half an hour. And was then replaced by my new favorite act at the market, Oceans & Lights. In fact I was so appreciative of their appearance I went and bought their CD.
Anyway. Sales were okay this week, not spectacular. Kind of an in between week for us, so it went all right considering. My greeting cards did better than usual, so that helped a bit.
Squeeze the life out of it,
Like it's done something wrong;
Add in some cat torture
And proclaim it a song!
Write four lines of prose about: the mission.
I could explain the inspiration for this prompt but it would take far too long and would not be particularly interesting, so lets just skip all that and get right to the writing, shall we?
The documents that had arrived through the usual means had been as direct and straightforward as always. The language was clearly that of his overlords, the phrases as familiar as the ones which regularly appeared in his own conversations. The goals of his mission were outlined in precise detail, with the accompanying maps and charts that he had come to expect.
But still he hesitated, still he wondered, still he listened to that doubting voice that would not be silenced...
Write about: the brute.
Harvested for a small bakery order this morning before delivering it in the afternoon and running some errands in town. Tomorrow we prepare for the farmers market; I suppose, at some point, we should figure out what we're bringing.
My neck has been bothering me all day. It's like I slept on it in an awkward position last night or something.
"He grows hungry."
The words lumbered through the dungeon, leaving in their wake a tremulous silence. Prisoners, who only moments earlier were screaming threats and promising intimate encounters filled with violence, retreated to the darkest corners of their cells. Even the men charged with preventing those criminals from seeing the light of day licked suddenly dry lips as their hands sought the comfort of weapon handles.
Boots thudded against concrete as the speaker took the steps down from the courtyard, one at a time, in no apparent rush. As he neared the bottom of the stairs he began to rattle the loop of keys he held in his left hand, just loud enough for all of his subterranean listeners to hear.
He carried no torch to light his way, but he was in no danger of a misstep. He had come this way so many times before.
Reaching the dungeon level, he approached the nearest guard. The man stood at attention, though every ancestral instinct remaining in his blood screamed for him to flee. He was braver than most men who had held his position before him.
"The Brute grows hungry," the speaker said in an echoing whisper, proffering his keys to the guard. "Bring forth a sacrifice."
Share a story which takes place in: the gallery.
The three photograph prints I mailed to my sister arrived safe and sound, and she was kind enough to email me a picture she took once she had them framed:
I'm quite pleased with how they look, especially considering that those are just $10 frames she picked up at Ikea.
Second prenatal class went well tonight. Really connecting with our instructor, and starting to get to know the other three couples as well. Lots of good information and we got to watch a birth video, which was particularly good for me since I hadn't watched one of those since Biology class in grade ten.
My only memory of that video was of me almost throwing up during one rather graphic scene. So, you know, good to get a better association with the whole process.
I walk these silent halls,
My work upon the walls;
I'm feeling like a fake,
Like this is some mistake.
Who let me through the doors?
Did they think I wash the floors?
Soon there will be a shout
And they will throw me out.
But still I am alone,
Unsettled to my bones;
I continue creeping,
Convinced I am sleeping.
Write two haiku about: time.
Very, very strange to think that the events of 9/11 were eleven years ago today. Seems both too long ago and not nearly long enough at the exact same time.
Spent the day harvesting and organizing for our local orders and box program. There are only five more box program days remaining in our inaugural season. I'd say it's been a successful experiment, with lots learned and many things we'll do differently next year.
I'd also say I'm about ready to be done with it for this year. It's been a long go.
Time passes us by,
each second the same as the
last - or so they say.
* * *
The distance between
now and then depends upon
Today we write about: the nurse.
Kat and I had our first prenatal class tonight and it was good. We ended things off with a tour of the maternity ward at the Penticton hospital (where we briefly met a couple of their maternity nurses), which was very... effective at making this all seem extremely real.
Lots of processing to do, and thankfully three more classes to go - this Wednesday, next Monday, and the Wednesday after that. I really like our instructor a lot, so I'm looking forward to hearing what else she has to say.
After a long shift of unappreciative patients and too appreciative doctors, Diane could almost taste the Merlot waiting on her dinner table at home. Closing her work locker with a little more enthusiasm than was strictly required, she pulled up the hood of her coat and headed for the elevators.
The ride down was blessedly quick and unaccompanied. In the parking garage she found her car where she'd left it, though not quite in the condition she'd last seen it in. She studied the scratch across the driver's side door for a moment before shrugging it off and climbing inside.
Maybe she'd get it fixed next paycheck.
Turning the key in the ignition, the engine rumbled to life on the third try. Not bad, considering the chill in the air. Before long she'd be lucky to get it going in less than ten.
As Diane eased the car into reverse her cell phone began to ring. She considered not answering it at all, but her conscience got the better of her on the fourth ring.
"Judy just called in sick," her supervisor informed her. Was that a hint of glee in her voice? "I'm going to need you to pull a double shift."
Write about: the charm.
Farm BBQ was a definite success this evening. Hosted 24 people, though that number includes two babies and five kids ranging from less than two to just over four years old. Other than a wind that was rather excessive at times, the weather cooperated as well.
And now I am completely exhausted, as it was a long day of preparations and then a long evening of entertaining. So good night, and see you all again on the morrow.
Two of our guests this evening got along particularly well. Gracie, who was a flower girl at our wedding two years ago at the tender age of two and a half, and Dex, a little boy who moved in just down the street from us less than a month ago.
Gracie, along with her sister and mother, were the first to arrive. When it was explained to her that there would be no girls her age at the BBQ she was not shy about voicing her disappointment. Which is not surprising, since I'm pretty sure there's not a shy bone in her body. You should have seen her steal the show at our wedding.
Anyway. Dex is also very outgoing. In fact, when Kat and I went over to invite our new neighbours to the BBQ he held out his hand while we were talking to his mom and said, "Hi, I'm Dex."
Shortly after he and his family arrived, Gracie was chasing him around the tables and I don't think they were too far apart for the rest of the evening. I was actually taking Gracie up to pick a few blackberries (her favorite of all that we grow) and suddenly Dex was joining the adventure. And when we got to the bushes Gracie insisted on picking some berries just for him.
It was all rather ridiculously charming and cute, really. I'm curious to hear if there will be any requests for another play date from either party.
I expect there will be.
Write a four line poem about: memory lane.
We had a spectacular conclusion to our peach season today, as we sold all eleven crates (about 220 pounds) that we had left. We're both a little sad to see the end of them, particularly Kat who has been going through a pretty serious craving for them lately.
Tomorrow we're hosting our second annual Prana Farm BBQ. I hadn't realized until I looked up that link that we're doing it exactly a year after the first one. Funny how things work out sometimes.
Anyway, we're expecting an even bigger turnout than last year, which is nice, and most of them didn't attend the first one, which is even nicer. Makes it seem like we've managed to expand our community here.
Sights, sounds, scents so fresh,
As though this were yesterday;
But this path is cluttered
With words I could never say.
Write four lines of prose about: the stranger.
Tomorrow will be the last farmers market we'll have peaches and nectarines for this year, which is a little sad - both because they sell well and because they're delicious.
On the plus side, we're just getting into apple season. We'll have Galas again, our first McIntosh apples, and next week we'll likely have one or two more varieties.
Plus, you know, veggies and stuff.
It is the bountiful time of year.
It's disconcerting, this feeling that's been with me ever since I first set foot in this town. Leaves me with the impression that I'm at a distinct disadvantage, and I don't care for that at all.
Everyone knows who I am - I'm the new guy, the stranger, the come quick and point me out to your friends - but I don't know who any of these people are.
Can't say I'm enjoying this sensation in the least, and it's left my trigger finger feeling extra sensitive.
It is Random CD Prompt time again! So go find a song as randomly as you like and use its first line as your own (credit goes where it is due, as always). From there, go where your imagination takes you, be it poetry or prose.
I tend to avoid resorting to this prompt when I'm struggling to come up with something new, and then before I know it months have passed since the last time I brushed it off. So in my desire to avoid overusing it, I end up using it less than I'd like. I shall find a balance eventually.
The song I ended up using was discovered while listening to The Fox online - it was the second or third song to come on after I started the player, I laughed when I recognized it, and it was pretty much game over at that point.
Welcome To The Jungle - Guns N Roses
"Welcome to the jungle."
I studied the speaker for a moment, trying to determine whether or not he was serious. As best I could tell, he was. Of course he was.
"I'm not certain that this really qualifies," I said as I returned my gaze to our surroundings. That was putting it as mildly as I could manage without risking the loss of my lunch.
"I do not understand."
"You...?" I found myself, not for the first time that week, struggling to find the right words. "Well, it just seems like there should be... more of it."
"This is all that remained when our crews arrived. I can assure you that everything that could be saved, was."
"Fair enough." I cleared my throat, the intensity of his gaze making me uncomfortable. I wondered if I'd ever get used to being watched by those eyes. "I know that jungles don't exist where you come from, but in Earth terms... this doesn't cut it."
"Then what would you humans call this?"
"This," I said with a weak wave of my hand, "is just a tree."
Today we write about: the approach.
Managed to get caught up on comments today since we took the day off from the garden again. It's funny, every year I look forward to the day we decide to stop weeding, that point when it makes more sense to focus on harvesting and selling and just let the weeds go until it's time to plow everything under at the end of the season.
I always expect it will be a celebrated day, but every year it ends up like this: we wake up one day and realize we haven't done any weeding in the last week or more, so we might as well make it official that we're done with that for another year.
Oh well, maybe next year.
Heat retreats at Cold's approach,
Leaves turn red in alarm
While a wintry breeze assures
He truly means no harm.
Feathered friends flee to the south,
Bears prepare hidden beds;
All of Nature readies for
The long winter ahead.
There is a chill in the air,
This silence drifts like snow;
I can see winter coming -
There's not much time to go.
Write two haiku about: medicine.
We had a pretty smooth local order day here, with an extra set of hands making everything a little bit easier.
Two of our guests went back home this morning, and we'll be saying farewell to our final guest tomorrow. Then it's back to me, Kat, and the approaching arrival of baby.
Just take two of these.
If you survive until dawn,
please call someone else.
* * *
On the kitchen floor
it still sits, a reminder;
empty pill bottle.
Write about: the shot.
Sorry for being so slow in responding to your comments lately, it's been hard to find time just to do the blog with all these house guests around. I will get to them eventually though, promise.
Between Kat having to get her RH factor pregnancy shot done in Penticton this afternoon, and us attending prenatal classes (also in Penticton) the next two Monday evenings, we've decided to shift our local and box program orders to Tuesdays for the next three weeks.
So, basically, I'm going to have no idea what day it is for the rest of the month.
Everything goes black after the fifth shot.
Before it I remember faces, sounds, colors. A crowded dance floor, eye-catching necklines, music that vibrated ribs and altered heartbeats. Money changing hands - mostly mine being taken by bartenders, but sometimes bills landing in my upturned palm.
Not sure what that was about, exactly. Won bets, I guess.
But that shot shut the door on any further memories of last night. The rest is a mystery that will require assistance if I have any hope of solving it. Alone, too many questions would remain unanswered.
And judging by the amount of blood on my clothing this morning, they are questions that I must confront sooner than later.
Write about: tenderness.
Enjoyed a day away from the garden. Getting back to it in the morning, with extra hands to help us out.
The slightest touch,
Skin upon skin,
Brings deepest comfort
To this place I'm in.
A light in the darkness,
Flames against cold;
Gentle as a whisper,
Worth more than gold.
A burden lessened,
Fear caressed away,
To face another day.
Write a four line poem about: the kiss.
Very successful market this morning, selling out of most everything aside from the peaches. We sold a more than respectable amount of them, we just brought a few too many crates.
This evening our house guests prepared dinner for us and it was fantastic. Great food, great company, and a great location out on our deck.
Not bad at all, really.
To steal a little kiss;
I'm just grateful
That our front bumpers missed