The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the middle of the night.
Sorry this is so late getting updated. Guests arrived shortly before midnight and then yadda yadda yadda.
Mine:
Things go bump,
Hearts may pause,
Though it's all
With... out... cause...?
Friday August 30th, 2013
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: belonging.
It's going to be a bit of a different market than usual tomorrow. Since we only managed to scrounge five pints of blackberries out of our bushes, and because we're pretty much past the soft fruit time of the year, there was a whole lot of space to be filled in our cooler.
So I decided, for the first time in more than two years, to bring some carrots to the market. Last year we just didn't have enough growing on top of what the boxes and restaurant were taking and up until this point this year we just haven't had the space, both in the cooler and on the truck.
Kind of looking forward to seeing how well they sell.
Other than that, for the September long weekend market I'll be bringing lots of corn, way too many tomatoes, a big load of Gala apples, onions, leeks, potatoes, garlic, and... I'm forgetting something. I have no idea what it is at the moment.
Whatever. Should be a good one, as the forecast is sounding pretty ideal.
Mine:
The air is different here, I can feel the subtleties in the scents as they enter my nostrils and the freshness as it fills my lungs. I would know this place if I were blindfolded and my ears deafened. It is like no other place on this planet.
This is not just my home... it is where I belong.
Write four lines of prose about: belonging.
It's going to be a bit of a different market than usual tomorrow. Since we only managed to scrounge five pints of blackberries out of our bushes, and because we're pretty much past the soft fruit time of the year, there was a whole lot of space to be filled in our cooler.
So I decided, for the first time in more than two years, to bring some carrots to the market. Last year we just didn't have enough growing on top of what the boxes and restaurant were taking and up until this point this year we just haven't had the space, both in the cooler and on the truck.
Kind of looking forward to seeing how well they sell.
Other than that, for the September long weekend market I'll be bringing lots of corn, way too many tomatoes, a big load of Gala apples, onions, leeks, potatoes, garlic, and... I'm forgetting something. I have no idea what it is at the moment.
Whatever. Should be a good one, as the forecast is sounding pretty ideal.
Mine:
The air is different here, I can feel the subtleties in the scents as they enter my nostrils and the freshness as it fills my lungs. I would know this place if I were blindfolded and my ears deafened. It is like no other place on this planet.
This is not just my home... it is where I belong.
Thursday August 29th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: misdirection.
Started weeding our badly neglected potatoes this morning. How rough is it? Well, I decided to just do the paths between every other row because I just need access to the plants from one side, not both.
And also because it would take until December to do all the rows.
I've been mucking around with my iPhone, trying to figure out how to take decent pictures with it. Here's one I took this morning of freshly picked Gala apples:
I took a great one of Max in the grocery store the other day, but it's really blurry. I shall have to try to capture that one again, as his expression was... well, you'll see. Hopefully.
Mine:
A languid, sultry wave of an arm, the wriggling of glittering fingers, an unexpected laugh. She knows all the tricks and does not hesitate to use them.
She does not need long sleeves to hide her secrets, no wigs or disguises to conceal her identity. Brazen, some might call it. She prefers confident.
It is a dangerous game. The penalties for losing are dire and not for the weak of heart. But she has never suffered from a frail disposition, nor does she concern herself with the possibility of capture. Perhaps that is the key to her success.
One of them, at least.
Write about: misdirection.
Started weeding our badly neglected potatoes this morning. How rough is it? Well, I decided to just do the paths between every other row because I just need access to the plants from one side, not both.
And also because it would take until December to do all the rows.
I've been mucking around with my iPhone, trying to figure out how to take decent pictures with it. Here's one I took this morning of freshly picked Gala apples:
I took a great one of Max in the grocery store the other day, but it's really blurry. I shall have to try to capture that one again, as his expression was... well, you'll see. Hopefully.
Mine:
A languid, sultry wave of an arm, the wriggling of glittering fingers, an unexpected laugh. She knows all the tricks and does not hesitate to use them.
She does not need long sleeves to hide her secrets, no wigs or disguises to conceal her identity. Brazen, some might call it. She prefers confident.
It is a dangerous game. The penalties for losing are dire and not for the weak of heart. But she has never suffered from a frail disposition, nor does she concern herself with the possibility of capture. Perhaps that is the key to her success.
One of them, at least.
Wednesday August 28th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: the caretaker.
Harvested a bunch of tomatoes for the bakery (cherry) and restaurant (heirloom) this morning, along with zucchini, swiss chard, eggplant, jalapenos, and... a disappointing amount of blackberries and raspberries. Looks like we're coming to the end of berry season.
Which is okay, really, considering how long it takes to pick them.
Mine:
His mother works too much,
His father not enough;
For such a little guy,
Life can be pretty rough.
The neighbours shrug and frown,
Teachers keep their distance,
Though privately they talk
Much of his persistence.
He ignores each of them,
His life speaks for itself;
For when push comes to shove
He takes care of himself.
Write about: the caretaker.
Harvested a bunch of tomatoes for the bakery (cherry) and restaurant (heirloom) this morning, along with zucchini, swiss chard, eggplant, jalapenos, and... a disappointing amount of blackberries and raspberries. Looks like we're coming to the end of berry season.
Which is okay, really, considering how long it takes to pick them.
Mine:
His mother works too much,
His father not enough;
For such a little guy,
Life can be pretty rough.
The neighbours shrug and frown,
Teachers keep their distance,
Though privately they talk
Much of his persistence.
He ignores each of them,
His life speaks for itself;
For when push comes to shove
He takes care of himself.
Tuesday August 27th, 2013
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: storms.
Today our box customers found leeks and eggplant in their boxes for the first time this season. There were definitely some pleased reactions to the leeks, which I always have trouble understanding. Just never been a particularly big fan of those guys.
Kat is still working her way back to full strength but at least there are signs of progress. Max, thank goodness, is still his happy, bouncy self and showing no signs of catching whatever his mama had.
Mine:
Quick as a cheetah
and twice as terrifying;
the storm has arrived.
* * *
Raindrops on windows,
lightning flashing in the sky;
time for a good book.
Write two haiku about: storms.
Today our box customers found leeks and eggplant in their boxes for the first time this season. There were definitely some pleased reactions to the leeks, which I always have trouble understanding. Just never been a particularly big fan of those guys.
Kat is still working her way back to full strength but at least there are signs of progress. Max, thank goodness, is still his happy, bouncy self and showing no signs of catching whatever his mama had.
Mine:
Quick as a cheetah
and twice as terrifying;
the storm has arrived.
* * *
Raindrops on windows,
lightning flashing in the sky;
time for a good book.
Monday August 26th, 2013
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: the horizon.
Feeling quite tired, so I'm just going to get to it.
Mine:
Professor Kairos Damus stood on the balcony attached to his hotel room, a pocket watch dangling from his right hand as he contemplated the western horizon. Festive noises floated up to him from the pool deck far below as other guests reveled in the afternoon sunshine. The professor would not be joining them, for that was not his purpose there. In fact his bags remained packed in the bedroom behind him, despite his having arrived the previous day.
He hadn't expected to observe anything until that afternoon, but he'd been concerned his calculations had been flawed and had therefore caused his instruments to be less than perfectly accurate. Had that been the case he wanted to know exactly how far off their prediction had been, which would allow for corrective tinkering.
But so far everything was going to their schedule. Professor Damus was struggling to contain his excitement as he continued his watch, first counting down the hours and then minutes.
That was not his real name, of course.
He was experimenting with aliases at each of his destinations, trying to find one that he would go public with once his work had been honed to perfection. His true identity must remain secret, for some would surely confuse prediction with causation.
People could be such fools when advanced science was involved.
As minutes descended into seconds he raised the watch to eye level. He could not stop himself from counting down the final moments out loud.
"Five, four, three, two, one... there she is."
With that he returned to his room, collected his bags, and took the elevator down to the parking lot beneath the building. One accurate prediction was not enough to satisfy his requirements, and the next tornado was scheduled to touchdown in less than two days on the other side of the country.
Write something that has to do with: the horizon.
Feeling quite tired, so I'm just going to get to it.
Mine:
Professor Kairos Damus stood on the balcony attached to his hotel room, a pocket watch dangling from his right hand as he contemplated the western horizon. Festive noises floated up to him from the pool deck far below as other guests reveled in the afternoon sunshine. The professor would not be joining them, for that was not his purpose there. In fact his bags remained packed in the bedroom behind him, despite his having arrived the previous day.
He hadn't expected to observe anything until that afternoon, but he'd been concerned his calculations had been flawed and had therefore caused his instruments to be less than perfectly accurate. Had that been the case he wanted to know exactly how far off their prediction had been, which would allow for corrective tinkering.
But so far everything was going to their schedule. Professor Damus was struggling to contain his excitement as he continued his watch, first counting down the hours and then minutes.
That was not his real name, of course.
He was experimenting with aliases at each of his destinations, trying to find one that he would go public with once his work had been honed to perfection. His true identity must remain secret, for some would surely confuse prediction with causation.
People could be such fools when advanced science was involved.
As minutes descended into seconds he raised the watch to eye level. He could not stop himself from counting down the final moments out loud.
"Five, four, three, two, one... there she is."
With that he returned to his room, collected his bags, and took the elevator down to the parking lot beneath the building. One accurate prediction was not enough to satisfy his requirements, and the next tornado was scheduled to touchdown in less than two days on the other side of the country.
Sunday August 25th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: recovery.
Today's theme was resting. For me, it was due to yesterday being market day and never getting enough sleep on Friday nights. For Kat, it was thanks to her being up half the night on Friday throwing up and then spending most of Saturday in bed recovering.
She's doing better today but she's still not 100% back from... whatever it was that hit her so hard. We're both very glad that her parents have been available to watch Max so that we can get some much needed sleep.
Mine:
The easternmost wing of the hospital's fifth floor was eerily quiet as midnight approached. No machines sent beeps drifting through the hallways, there were no staff or patients up and about to produce footfalls.
It almost seemed abandoned, but it was not. At least, not quite.
For one room was occupied, its patient still as death on his lonely bed. The medical equipment had been turned off weeks ago but still his chest rose and fell, still breath passed through his nostrils. Still he lived.
His doctors had given up on him and had stopped checking on his progress months ago. The nurses had done the same, but had maintained their routine of daily visits... right up until one of them had quietly shut off his monitor and support machines.
The nurses claimed they didn't know which of their number had done it, but only amongst themselves. No one else seemed to have noticed.
But he had seen her. He knew her name. He had vowed revenge on all of them, but she had risen to the top of his list in that moment. They would all pay, though her price would be dearest.
As soon as he was fully recovered.
Write about: recovery.
Today's theme was resting. For me, it was due to yesterday being market day and never getting enough sleep on Friday nights. For Kat, it was thanks to her being up half the night on Friday throwing up and then spending most of Saturday in bed recovering.
She's doing better today but she's still not 100% back from... whatever it was that hit her so hard. We're both very glad that her parents have been available to watch Max so that we can get some much needed sleep.
Mine:
The easternmost wing of the hospital's fifth floor was eerily quiet as midnight approached. No machines sent beeps drifting through the hallways, there were no staff or patients up and about to produce footfalls.
It almost seemed abandoned, but it was not. At least, not quite.
For one room was occupied, its patient still as death on his lonely bed. The medical equipment had been turned off weeks ago but still his chest rose and fell, still breath passed through his nostrils. Still he lived.
His doctors had given up on him and had stopped checking on his progress months ago. The nurses had done the same, but had maintained their routine of daily visits... right up until one of them had quietly shut off his monitor and support machines.
The nurses claimed they didn't know which of their number had done it, but only amongst themselves. No one else seemed to have noticed.
But he had seen her. He knew her name. He had vowed revenge on all of them, but she had risen to the top of his list in that moment. They would all pay, though her price would be dearest.
As soon as he was fully recovered.
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