The exercise:
Write about: the swing.
The weather was beautiful today because of course it was. We took Max for a walk by the lake this morning, ending up at his favorite park for a ride on the swing there (oh, hello prompt idea!).
This afternoon we got a few things done around the house while the vineyard next door prepared for their grape harvest tomorrow, then Kat cooked up a delicious borscht for dinner. Super tasty and just the most gorgeous red colour I've ever seen in a soup pot.
Mine:
Hanging from a tree
On thick yellow rope,
It's a time machine
To days filled with hope.
Summers spent outside,
Soaring through the air;
Singing silly songs,
No worries, no cares.
Finding shapes in clouds,
Wishing on a star.
Now I wonder how
Those days got so far.
3 comments:
That sounds like a very pleasant day! I don't think I've ever cooked borscht myself, but I know it's very popular in Russia :) I have used beetroot in salads though, and I'm pretty certain I'd enjoy both the flavour and the colour of the soup!
I really like the first stanza in your poem today, it's such a good start. The rest of the poem does it justice as well, but the first stanza just really stands out for me.
The swing
There were three bodies hanging from the gallows. Councilman Atherton had clearly been busy yesterday, emptying the gaol and lightening the burden on the taxpayers's pockets. The bodies were all men, of course; Atherton had other ways of dealing with crimimal women.
Margueritte stood at the foot of the gallows, watching the bodies swing slightly in the early morning breeze. It was stirring the mist that was dampening the earth, but not shifting it. She wiped a tear away from her eye, and braced herself. She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a pale wrist and muscled forearm – cleaning floors all day will do that – and placed the edge of the blade at her elbow. She'd sharpened it at midnight, chanting strange words over it.
She closed her eyes and drew the blade straight down, slicing the skin and causing bright red blood to well up and drip on the ground below the swinging feet. The pain only came as she reached her wrist; then she sucked breath through her teeth and dropped to her knees. The knife fell to the ground, and she clutched at her arm, her hand slick with blood.
Above her though, the gallows creaked as three men came back to life.
She has long brown hair, pretty skin, and skinny legs. She had stopped swinging and was turned into him, listening, holding onto every word he said. He was planning their life together. She loved the swings best of all because she felt so young and in love all over again.
He had short hair, chiseled face, and a tall athletic body. He loved her on the swings. He could smell her hair in the air while those skinny legs pumped back and forth.
They were 15. He wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him.
This happens every Saturday night after dinner when they walk to the playground holding hands. This is why they took their kids to the park. They loved swinging, feeling young, and falling in love.
Greg - thanks for the kind words on mine :)
Fantastic scene, so gritty and littered with great details. Very nice work.
Mo - that's a very sweet piece from you today, tres romantic :D
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