The exercise:
Write about: strings.
Showing posts with label Strings Prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Strings Prompt. Show all posts
Monday June 23rd, 2014
The exercise:
Write about: strings.
Our helpers spent most of their morning picking strawberries, collecting a grand total of 46 pints. Add those to the 17 they got yesterday for a local order and dinner and it's easy to see the plants are slowing down. But not quite as much as I expected, so there might be a reasonable number available for this Saturday's market.
I helped a little with the pick, but I needed to come home for a mid-morning Skype chat with a WOOFer who is interested in joining us for the month of August. She seems like she should fit in on the farm; plus it would be very nice to know we've got help lined up this far ahead of time.
This evening was spent picking raspberries, and tomorrow we get into week three of our box program.
Max refused to nap for the second straight afternoon today. Last night he went to sleep very, very quickly, but tonight he just wanted to stay up and play and play and play. But once we finally managed to get him into the bedroom he was out like a light.
We're hoping it's just a blip on the radar, something to do with the summer solstice, and not an indication that he's giving up his afternoon naps already.
Mine:
The puppets dance upon the stage, twisting and swaying and saying all the right things. Smiles don't reach eyes in this choreographed performance, but no one seems to mind. They are getting what they want and who could ask for anything more than that?
Bright lights, brighter colours, a nearly nauseating amount of motion. It's like being a passenger on a boat full of clowns in stormy weather, if you watch too closely or for too long.
Carefully scripted words spill from gaping maws, sounding earnest and believable... if you want to believe them badly enough. They are simply dying to hear what these puppets have to say, so I make sure that they get exactly that and nothing more.
I remain in the shadows though. I do not care for the spotlight. I have no interest in being recognized. No photographs, no autographs. I am most content staying out of sight so that I can concentrate fully on these pretty, delicate strings I pull.
Write about: strings.
Our helpers spent most of their morning picking strawberries, collecting a grand total of 46 pints. Add those to the 17 they got yesterday for a local order and dinner and it's easy to see the plants are slowing down. But not quite as much as I expected, so there might be a reasonable number available for this Saturday's market.
I helped a little with the pick, but I needed to come home for a mid-morning Skype chat with a WOOFer who is interested in joining us for the month of August. She seems like she should fit in on the farm; plus it would be very nice to know we've got help lined up this far ahead of time.
This evening was spent picking raspberries, and tomorrow we get into week three of our box program.
Max refused to nap for the second straight afternoon today. Last night he went to sleep very, very quickly, but tonight he just wanted to stay up and play and play and play. But once we finally managed to get him into the bedroom he was out like a light.
We're hoping it's just a blip on the radar, something to do with the summer solstice, and not an indication that he's giving up his afternoon naps already.
Mine:
The puppets dance upon the stage, twisting and swaying and saying all the right things. Smiles don't reach eyes in this choreographed performance, but no one seems to mind. They are getting what they want and who could ask for anything more than that?
Bright lights, brighter colours, a nearly nauseating amount of motion. It's like being a passenger on a boat full of clowns in stormy weather, if you watch too closely or for too long.
Carefully scripted words spill from gaping maws, sounding earnest and believable... if you want to believe them badly enough. They are simply dying to hear what these puppets have to say, so I make sure that they get exactly that and nothing more.
I remain in the shadows though. I do not care for the spotlight. I have no interest in being recognized. No photographs, no autographs. I am most content staying out of sight so that I can concentrate fully on these pretty, delicate strings I pull.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)