The exercise:
Write about something that is: attached.
Showing posts with label Connections Prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Connections Prompt. Show all posts
Monday November 30th, 2020
The exercise:
As November draws to a close and December comes knocking at the door, write about: connecting the dots.
Sunday May 26th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: connections.
Enjoyed a quiet day off, now feeling ready to get back out in the garden to tackle those pesky weeds.
Thankfully our internet connection decided to start working again tonight or who knows when this would have been posted.
Mine:
"And how about this one?"
I look at the card the nice lady is holding up for a moment, then return my eyes to her face. She seems as though she really wants to help me and I don't want to let her down. And she has spent so much of her time with me. So I look at the card again.
There is a man pictured there, a close-up of his face. Middle-aged, needs a shave. Dark eyes, thick lips. It seems like he's about to smile, at least I think so.
I turn back to the nice lady. Those lines on her face have returned. Like she's concerned. About me? I hope not. I don't want to upset her.
"Sorry, miss," I say with an apologetic shrug and a gentle smile. I hope the gestures will ease her disappointment with me. "I don't know who that is."
Write about: connections.
Enjoyed a quiet day off, now feeling ready to get back out in the garden to tackle those pesky weeds.
Thankfully our internet connection decided to start working again tonight or who knows when this would have been posted.
Mine:
"And how about this one?"
I look at the card the nice lady is holding up for a moment, then return my eyes to her face. She seems as though she really wants to help me and I don't want to let her down. And she has spent so much of her time with me. So I look at the card again.
There is a man pictured there, a close-up of his face. Middle-aged, needs a shave. Dark eyes, thick lips. It seems like he's about to smile, at least I think so.
I turn back to the nice lady. Those lines on her face have returned. Like she's concerned. About me? I hope not. I don't want to upset her.
"Sorry, miss," I say with an apologetic shrug and a gentle smile. I hope the gestures will ease her disappointment with me. "I don't know who that is."
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