The exercise:
Write about something that is: fitting.
Had a really nice autumn walk this morning with my family at Haynes Point. Wind picked up a little bit at times but we generally stayed comfortable and happy. First time we made it all the way to the end of the point and we're hoping to make that a regular thing.
Sorry, once more, for the late posting. You'll see why it's especially fitting once I get Monday's post published.
And why hopefully this will be the last time it happens.
Mine:
Forget
It.
This dressing isn't working
Tonight.
I just
Need
Gym sweats and ice cream.
2 comments:
The walk sounds lovely and it sounds like the kids are getting old enough that you can start taking longer walks too. That will definitely let you explore more of the local countryside :)
I usually assume you've fallen asleep if a post is late, and only start to worry if the second post goes missing too. But I think we regulars all appreciate that you're not exactly sitting at home, daydreaming the day away and then deciding that posting is just too much effort when you could daydream a little longer instead.
Haha, I like your poem and its acrostic and the sentiment it brings. For a late post, and piling up two at once, you did a great job!
Fitting
I want to live a life like that. The shouts of the vendors rise up around me, some high-pitched and some low and bellowing. "Four for a pound!" leads "Half-a-kilo of beans! Half-a-kilo of beans", which overlaps with "Guns! Guns! Guns!" It's like being inside some insane aviary. I shake my head, just a little (because it's not good to do things too differently here) and inhale. There are smells of pastry cooking, a meaty aroma that makes my mouth water, a sour cherry-like smell from the covered stalls off to the left, and as a bitter afternote the heavy stink of engine oil. People push past one another, some stopping and considering, some hurrying on to wherever takes their fancy. Some try and be clever; stopping, buying a little here, a little there, hoping that no-one notices they're drifting ever closer to the source of the sour cherry smell. We all notice. We all envy.
Live the life of the faithful one -- it's easier said than done. Anyone you asked here: Alf, who's got more beard than face and whose breath smells of raw dough all the time, he'll tell you he's got faith and his eyes will scrunch up tiny when he says it. Ask Rameez, whose arms are tattooed with all the animals that he's learned how to butcher and he'll nod firmly, stare at you like he can see your soul, and ask you how much faith you have. Ask Jamelia and she'll scratch at the stump of her left leg and look away, but she'll whisper, just before you give up and leave her, that faith is all she has.
Wanna bow to the floor as that's only fitting for those with faith. But it's also only fitting when the object of that faith is standing there in front of you, asking you if you truly believed or if you were just paying lip-service. You have a split-second to make that choice as well, because... well, if you really had faith you wouldn't be thinking, you'd just be acting. Tuesday October 24th... that's when we had to make that choice. That's when the sour cherry smell suddenly washed out every other smell there was, and Chiwati stood in the middle of the market place.
Greg - that sounds about right. Doesn't make it okay, but that's how it has been. My body is looking forward to not waking up in awkward positions with the laptop teetering on my lap...
Glad you enjoyed mine :)
This is fascinating stuff. I especially enjoyed your middle paragraph, the last line in particular.
I would be very pleased to see more of your writing take place here.
Post a Comment