The exercise:
Happy Halloween! Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: another point of view.
Max dressed up as a turtle this year and was, obviously, very adorable. Kat has a picture on her phone so I'll have to get that from her in order to share it. I did a very simple cowboy costume (as in, I bought the hat and wore jeans and a short-sleeved button up plaid shirt that I already owned) since my pirate getup from last year freaked Max out a little bit.
He definitely liked this year's version better. He even wanted to wear the hat.
Oh, speaking of pictures - we got our family photos back already. Still looking through them, trying to narrow it down to a top ten or so, but I thought I'd share my clear favorite:
I know I should probably pick one that actually shows off the fall colours, but this one is, in my opinion, too perfect to be diminished by such considerations.
Mine:
He seems... upset. Perhaps his eyes - those rich, deep, dark brown eyes - see this scene differently from how my dull gray ones perceive things. I suppose he doesn't understand, but how could he?
A part of me, admittedly a very small part, wishes I could just tell him that I have simply grown weary of my troublesome wings.
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?
The exercise:
Write about: the stranger on the wall.
My take on the prompt (and the prompt itself!) was inspired by Greg's comment on Monday's post. You do with it as you will, though. As always.
Spent most of the morning taking the last of the tomato stakes out of the garden. Then I started in on removing the row of black plastic that some of them resided in this summer. What a pain in the bum.
Anyway, hoping to finish that off tomorrow morning and then do whatever else needs to be done so that everything is ready to be plowed in to (almost) finish off the season.
Almost?
Yeah, still need to get the garlic planted. Give me just a few more days, frost. Just a few more days.
Mine:
The man in the picture
Gives me pause.
I study his eyes, clothes,
And his flaws,
But still recognition
Escapes me;
Dancing beyond my reach,
Mockingly.
I should know this person,
I'm certain.
It's like he hides behind
A curtain,
Or just lurks in shadow
With that smile
That proclaims his wholly
Naked guile.
It's moments like this one,
I can't lie,
That leave me yearning with
A sad sigh
For a life where the blow
To my head
Was kind enough to leave
Me for dead.
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: phobias.
It is getting progressively colder around these parts. I suppose that's to be expected, but I'm still not particularly enjoying it. Probably won't mind as much once all the garden work has been completed.
Mine:
His greatest fear is
that they will learn that he fears
anything at all
* * *
Creepy and crawly,
slimy and slithery... could
we change the subject?
The exercise:
Write something that takes place in: the parking lot.
Car repairs were completed without issue, errands were accomplished with minimal hiccups, and got home in time to shave before picture time.
Picture time?
Indeed. Some friends of ours here in town are photographers (mostly weddings) and we agreed to an exchange of babysitting (and produce) for some family pictures. The husband came over just before dinner and we did some shots around the walnut tree in our front yard before going out into the autumn colours of the apricot trees for the rest of the shoot.
I'm pretty excited to see how they turn out, as we've never done any professional photos with Max. I'll be sure to share a few once we get a hold of them.
Mine:
I study the underside of the red sedan with little interest, despite the fact that I've never been beneath a car before now. It is kind of neat, I suppose, seeing how things connect. Where certain liquids are contained until they are used up or replaced. If I were to dredge up some imagination it wouldn't be difficult to picture how things would look if the vehicle was in motion.
But I can't be bothered with that right now. Sorry, I guess. I've got other things on my mind.
Like listening to voices drawing closer and then blessedly moving further away. Like watching running shoes of varying colour, boots of fixed colour (black, always and forever black), and heels in the genre of Too Tall To Be Practical crisscrossing the parking lot. Hidden at regular intervals by tires and lampposts while my heart pounds louder than all of their footsteps combined.
They are searching for me. They have been for quite some time. They must give up soon.
They must.
The exercise:
Write about something that has been: tarnished.
Had a pretty nice birthday today, going out for lunch with my family to our favorite local Greek restaurant and then going up to Kat's parents for dinner with her family. She made a delicious gluten-free, dairy-free cake so that everyone could enjoy it (though Max mostly focused on the icing and raspberry jam filling) created from a whole lot of eggs and a little bit of coconut flour.
Tomorrow morning I get to take the car up to Penticton for its second manufacturer recall issue repair, this one related to the power steering assist feature. I'll run a couple errands while I'm up there before heading back, but it's still a nuisance, especially with so much work left to do on the farm before frost hits.
As for right now, I've fallen behind on my attempts to catch up on comments... so I'm going to give that another go before I go to sleep.
Mine:
In the aftermath, long after the dust had fully settled, I surveyed the damage with a keen eye. The ache of loss was a familiar friend by then, and I could relegate it to background noise without too many hiccups forcing their way to the surface of my awareness.
The destruction was very nearly complete, with no surfaces managing to escaped unblemished. Corners which once lurked in darkness were exposed for all to see. Hidden places had been turned inside out with apparent relish, leaving no secrets sacred.
I stopped to examine a printed record of all the calls I'd made from my cell phone in the previous year. Saw names and numbers I'd forgotten existed.
Hiccup.
Turning away, I found myself staring at the reflection of a man I no longer recognized. A beard emerging from a face which had rarely gone unshaven for more than half a day. Clothes worn and grey had taken the place of fine threads and bright, confident colours. The posture that had once made yoga teachers envious now weak and slouching.
The eyes, though. There was still life there, still signs of a fire smouldering. It would take a mountain of work, but that gleam let me know that my tarnished reputation could still be recovered.
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: beer.
We made it to the party this afternoon, though we didn't stay very long due to Max needing his nap and wanting to get a few other things done while we were up in Penticton. Definitely enjoyed it while we were able to and it felt good to be able to make an appearance at last.
This morning I started working on pulling out the stakes for our tomato plants. There... are a lot of those. Glad I put a dent in it at least.
I'm determined to get this posted before it's officially my birthday, so I'm going to get to the prompt thingamajig now.
Mine:
A pitcher of golden goodness?
Ya gotta know I'll take 'er!
She's my comfort, my company,
My best decision maker.
