The exercise:
Write about: wings.
Had a mostly quiet morning to myself to rest and recover from the last four days. Spent the afternoon with the boys so that Kat could do the same.
It's been much cooler the last few days, which has been an appreciated change. As the days grow shorter heading toward fall the length of the hottest portion of the day grow shorter as well.
Generally it's just a whole lot nicer than those days of 40 plus degrees, and I am clearly looking forward to fall already.
Mine:
My muscles ache, unused to the demands that I must now make of them. I know they will grow stronger, adjust to the new movements and additional weight, but it will take time.
Patience as well, but I have precious little of that resource to begin with.
It is an honor; I must keep reminding myself of that. I have earned these wings. Through the sweat of hard work and whatever blood shed was required. Those born with wings on their backs have not paid the same price.
But they were born this way, and as such have had a lifetime to grow accustomed to them. To push their limits. Discover their secrets.
I am well behind them now, but I will make up ground quickly. Through hard work, of course. And blood shed?
Yes, almost certainly.
Showing posts with label Wings Prompt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wings Prompt. Show all posts
Thursday October 30th, 2014
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: wings.
If you're wondering why this is getting posted so late... so am I.
As best I can figure out, I fell asleep last night on the couch and woke up to a black screen. Instead of realizing that the computer was in sleep mode, I thought it had been powered off. Which meant it was time for bed.
I guess?
Anyway. I should get this written up so I can go help build the horse fence in the rain.
Mine:
The graveyard is nearly deserted as I make my way between the crumbling and faded headstones. Soft voices carry through the twilight, originating from somewhere to my right. I think. Sound travels along strange pathways here.
Overhead the clouds are heavy with impending rain while ravens with midnight feathers move from tree to tree in eerie silence. I've never heard those birds be so quiet, and I don't care for it.
It takes longer than I would have liked, but I eventually find the grave that I'm looking for. Tucked into the northeast corner of the property and edged on two sides by towering walls covered by moss, it's hard to imagine this spot sees much foot traffic. The lack of flowers on the surrounding sites seems to confirm this.
And yet.
I move closer, careful to avoid stepping where logic tells me the body was buried. Mostly out of respect, and only a little bit out of superstition. The headstone is a small one but the details are intricate and finely done. The family obviously could not afford much but they had paid their utmost for a dignified marker.
So who, I wonder with teeth threatening to grind each other to dust, had decided to break these little angel wings?
Write something that has to do with: wings.
If you're wondering why this is getting posted so late... so am I.
As best I can figure out, I fell asleep last night on the couch and woke up to a black screen. Instead of realizing that the computer was in sleep mode, I thought it had been powered off. Which meant it was time for bed.
I guess?
Anyway. I should get this written up so I can go help build the horse fence in the rain.
Mine:
The graveyard is nearly deserted as I make my way between the crumbling and faded headstones. Soft voices carry through the twilight, originating from somewhere to my right. I think. Sound travels along strange pathways here.
Overhead the clouds are heavy with impending rain while ravens with midnight feathers move from tree to tree in eerie silence. I've never heard those birds be so quiet, and I don't care for it.
It takes longer than I would have liked, but I eventually find the grave that I'm looking for. Tucked into the northeast corner of the property and edged on two sides by towering walls covered by moss, it's hard to imagine this spot sees much foot traffic. The lack of flowers on the surrounding sites seems to confirm this.
And yet.
I move closer, careful to avoid stepping where logic tells me the body was buried. Mostly out of respect, and only a little bit out of superstition. The headstone is a small one but the details are intricate and finely done. The family obviously could not afford much but they had paid their utmost for a dignified marker.
So who, I wonder with teeth threatening to grind each other to dust, had decided to break these little angel wings?
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