The exercise:
Write something that takes place in: the flower shop.
Pretty good first day back at work. Other than the smoke that arrived around 9 this morning and hung around for the rest of the day. More wildfire smoke from south of the border, apparently.
Today is my seventh wedding anniversary, so I grabbed some flowers for my lovely wife on the way home from work. Going to try to have a proper date with Kat during my next set of days off.
It's going to be a hot week. Not thrilled about that, but at least I'll have air conditioned offices to clean every day. I walked into Town Hall this afternoon and was like... yeah, I'm just going to stand here for a minute and enjoy this.
Mine:
"I need a bouquet of flowers, fast."
"What's the occasion?"
"What? What does it matter?"
"Well, we carry different arrangements for different circumstances. You know, birthdays, anniversaries, promotions, funerals. That sort of thing."
"Don't care. Just pick one and I'll take it. Quickly, please."
"I'm... I can't... I'm not really comfortable with that! What if it's completely inappropriate?"
"That's not your concern! Come on, man! Flowers! Pronto!"
"Fine, fine. I just don't understand why you can't tell me what they're for..."
"You really want to know?"
"... have I not made that clear?"
"Fine. Just remember that you asked for it."
"I'd say I very nearly demanded it!"
"They're for my girlfriend..."
"Aw, that's sweet!"
"... to apologize for getting her mother pregnant."
Showing posts with label Flower Prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flower Prompt. Show all posts
Sunday November 30th, 2014
The exercise:
Write about: the flower.
Today's high was supposedly -12 here, but with the wind finally leaving us alone to go hassle somewhere else it felt damned near tropical.
Things are expected to return to above freezing by the end of the week, so there's that to look forward to as well. Until then? Soups, fireplace, hot drinks.
We might be making our final visit to Vancouver Irrealis tomorrow. Not sure yet, but I have a theme week in mind that I'd like to get started on soon and don't really want to put off the end of this year's saga for seven days or more.
So, likely, the yearlong prompt comes to its conclusion on Monday and then a theme week begins either Tuesday or Wednesday. Consider yourselves warned.
Mine:
I wake in the morning light to find myself alone, a single flower left on his pillow to serve as... something. A replacement? An apology? Thanks?
Ugh, please don't let it be that last one.
Without pausing to study the parting gift, if that's what it is, I shower and get dressed. I've got coffee brewing and breakfast in the oven before I remember my phone is still on my bedside table. I enter the room, grab my cell, and I'm heading for the door when the smell stops me in my tracks.
I turn to take a closer look at the flower, realizing that I'd initially assumed that it was a rose. Typical, predictable rose. But no, that sweet jasmine scent tells me I was wrong.
An orchid. How delightfully unexpected. Where could he have... oh no.
I rush to the window, look down at Mrs. Wheeler's garden. Her prized centerpiece is missing. Maybe I can blame it on a deer or dog or... wait a second. She'll have no reason to suspect this has anything to do with me. I'll just offer condolences when she surely complains to me about it when I pass by on my way home from work this afternoon. No biggie.
Then I see the muddy footprints leading from her yard to my backdoor.
Write about: the flower.
Today's high was supposedly -12 here, but with the wind finally leaving us alone to go hassle somewhere else it felt damned near tropical.
Things are expected to return to above freezing by the end of the week, so there's that to look forward to as well. Until then? Soups, fireplace, hot drinks.
We might be making our final visit to Vancouver Irrealis tomorrow. Not sure yet, but I have a theme week in mind that I'd like to get started on soon and don't really want to put off the end of this year's saga for seven days or more.
So, likely, the yearlong prompt comes to its conclusion on Monday and then a theme week begins either Tuesday or Wednesday. Consider yourselves warned.
Mine:
I wake in the morning light to find myself alone, a single flower left on his pillow to serve as... something. A replacement? An apology? Thanks?
Ugh, please don't let it be that last one.
Without pausing to study the parting gift, if that's what it is, I shower and get dressed. I've got coffee brewing and breakfast in the oven before I remember my phone is still on my bedside table. I enter the room, grab my cell, and I'm heading for the door when the smell stops me in my tracks.
I turn to take a closer look at the flower, realizing that I'd initially assumed that it was a rose. Typical, predictable rose. But no, that sweet jasmine scent tells me I was wrong.
An orchid. How delightfully unexpected. Where could he have... oh no.
I rush to the window, look down at Mrs. Wheeler's garden. Her prized centerpiece is missing. Maybe I can blame it on a deer or dog or... wait a second. She'll have no reason to suspect this has anything to do with me. I'll just offer condolences when she surely complains to me about it when I pass by on my way home from work this afternoon. No biggie.
Then I see the muddy footprints leading from her yard to my backdoor.
Monday April 19th, 2010
The exercise:
Would you like a touch of randomness with your prompt today? Yes? Excellent. Here it is then: Ella's flower garden.
And here are some pictures that I took Sunday morning at Queen Elizabeth Park to help inspire you:
Mine:
She would rise before the sun,
A smile dimpling her cheeks,
And she’d move about the house
Upon bunny-slippered feet.
The tea kettle on the stove
Whistled a familiar tune
While Ella prepared breakfast
And serenaded the moon.
Her mug of steaming green tea
Would join her in the garden,
Where she’d extract weeds with
A whispered, “Beg your pardon!”
The roses would turn her way,
Convinced her warmth was the sun,
While the daisies seemed to laugh
When her handiwork was done.
If rain should escape the clouds
Before Ella’s work was through,
She’d sit in the gazebo
And practice singing the blues.
But her heart wasn’t in it,
She knew the dark skies would pass;
So she’d survey her flowers
And think them nature’s stained glass.
Wednesday October 14th, 2009
The exercise:
Today's prompt comes courtesy of g2: a bowl of petunias.
On that note, prompt suggestions are always welcome. So if you have an idea feel free to either leave it in a comment or contact me directly.
Mine:
She placed the bowl of petunias at the center of the dinner table with a demure smile, telling me that they were her mother's favorite flower. I nodded and held my tongue, not knowing what to say. Should I have said they were pretty? That her mother would have been proud of the fine collection she had grown in the painted wooden boxes on her front porch? That I was sorry for her loss?
No, definitely not the last. How hollow and meaningless that would have been!
But surely something, anything would have been better than silence? But my lips held firm as she poured two steaming cups of herbal tea, placing one before me and holding the other. She stood, resting her hip against the counter, her eyes as distant as the horizon. I wrapped my worn hands around the tiny ceramic thing, sitting so regally in its purple and gold plate, and wondered why she had asked me to come.
"Robert... I have a favor to ask of you," she said at last.
"Ask and it shall be done," I said, so eager to help that I nearly stood up.
"Come with me, to visit my mother's grave," she said and I practically shouted my agreement. "And, once we're there, I would very much appreciate it... if you killed me. Just as you killed her."
Today's prompt comes courtesy of g2: a bowl of petunias.
On that note, prompt suggestions are always welcome. So if you have an idea feel free to either leave it in a comment or contact me directly.
Mine:
She placed the bowl of petunias at the center of the dinner table with a demure smile, telling me that they were her mother's favorite flower. I nodded and held my tongue, not knowing what to say. Should I have said they were pretty? That her mother would have been proud of the fine collection she had grown in the painted wooden boxes on her front porch? That I was sorry for her loss?
No, definitely not the last. How hollow and meaningless that would have been!
But surely something, anything would have been better than silence? But my lips held firm as she poured two steaming cups of herbal tea, placing one before me and holding the other. She stood, resting her hip against the counter, her eyes as distant as the horizon. I wrapped my worn hands around the tiny ceramic thing, sitting so regally in its purple and gold plate, and wondered why she had asked me to come.
"Robert... I have a favor to ask of you," she said at last.
"Ask and it shall be done," I said, so eager to help that I nearly stood up.
"Come with me, to visit my mother's grave," she said and I practically shouted my agreement. "And, once we're there, I would very much appreciate it... if you killed me. Just as you killed her."
Sunday April 12th, 2009
The exercise:
Today's prompt comes from a random observation on the way home from the bus station this afternoon: an abandoned flower in the rain.
Mine:
The rain batters the petals,
Slide to the ground and settle,
Become a rippling mirror -
The answers are no nearer.
He will never understand
Why she turned from helping hands,
Why she must be on her own,
Why she left him on this stone.
His heart exposed to her pain
Like a flower in the rain.
Today's prompt comes from a random observation on the way home from the bus station this afternoon: an abandoned flower in the rain.
Mine:
The rain batters the petals,
Slide to the ground and settle,
Become a rippling mirror -
The answers are no nearer.
He will never understand
Why she turned from helping hands,
Why she must be on her own,
Why she left him on this stone.
His heart exposed to her pain
Like a flower in the rain.
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