Thursday May 23rd, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the revival.

Because I had to light the fireplace this morning, it was so bloody chilly in the house. Had really hoped we were past that by now.

Made some progress in the garden today with weeding and mulching. Would have rather been planting tomatoes out, but the weather has decided we'll be doing that next week instead.

Right now I'm just hoping the forecast for Saturday drastically improves, otherwise we might be skipping the market. Which would suck, considering how many seedlings we still have to sell.

Mine:

It grew cold from neglect, forgotten as the heat of summer made spring promises we should not have believed. An obstacle in the midst of our home, its accoutrements potential hazards for a baby learning to crawl. Nothing more.

But one night the cold within was matched by the cold without. We came shivering before it, begged forgiveness as its doors creaked open. We filled it with paper and wood, making assurances that it would not be ignored so eagerly again.

It grumbled, breathed black smokey threats. Turned away from our entreaties and refused to perform its usual duties. The cold settled into the walls, into our bones. Panic slipped through the cracks around the doors and grasped at our ankles.

But at last the fire caught and warmth was restored, one burning log at a time.

2 comments:

Greg Bennett said...

Good luck with the weather; we're having very similar over here. I'd say it's unseasonable, except this is Britain and our weather turns up when it can make it and doesn't worry too much about prebooking appointments. I hope you do make it to the market (and that your intern isn't freezing to death in her tent!).
That's a lovely description of lighting your fire, by the way!

The revival
June peered at the board and then at her rack. Doris tutted to herself, and ostentatiously checked the timer. "30 seconds," she said, just a little prissily.
"Oh well," said June, sighing. "I suppose I'll just have to play this then." Her gnarled hands moved surprisingly quickly, laying Scrabble tiles down on the board with practiced precision. "VETIVER. For 142."
Doris nodded, thin-lipped, and checked the count. Only when she was sure it was 142 did she write it down, and June then wrote it down on her own score-pad.
"I don't think I need to spend nearly three minutes hunting for a word," said Doris, allowing herself a small smile. "That 'R' of yours... I can play REVIVAL. For 98."
Again, they both checked and then wrote the score down, and June reached for the tile bag. Suddenly she stopped.
"Doris?" she said. "Where did we get this board from?"
"Oh, it's my daughter's," said Doris. "But I don't play with her, she's a terrible cheat."
"Hmm," said June. "I believe you. Have you noticed that we've got 18 V's on the board now?"

Marc said...

Greg - my goodness, I can only imagine the final tallies playing with a board like that!