jlockman
Arts is close to ants, ants, as far as I know are absent of arts. Arts however, are not absent of ants.
The solution was clear; enjoy each with what it brought. Make the most of it all.
The swing went back and forth in the golden fall wind. Long unused, the rope was fraying and it would not be long before some gust of wind or heavy snow would release it from the tall oak branch.
Emily had shown the house several times before. EAch time she was struck by the brightness of the kitchen, the joy that was waiting to happen when the home was filled with family and baking smells.
She did all she could to bury herself in homework; reading, taking notes, writing summaries, but still she struggled to block out the positive test. She was indeed pregnant and would soon find herself buried in baby, and diapers, and feeding, and building a family.
The sidewalk was wet - a fall shower passed through leaving dark gray splotches drying quickly in the warmish wind.
I am contemplating a fresh start - I will start with fresh food, fresh flowers, fresh sheets, in a bright fresh apartment. Missing will be my wedding band. Missing will be my stale love. My being will be fresh.
The sunflowers were dominant in the garden - lording it over the zinnias and cosmos. But they too are withered, taller, more damaged than the lower flowers that retain a greeness so close to the ground.
I went to school with a kid named Steve Walls. He had glasses, but he was one of of the popular kids, the funny one who could remember movie lines and could draw cartoons.
The gray tanktop was slung on the doorknob. A sign that Ken should stay away from the dorm room. Go get a pop. Go for a walk. The doorknob hung empty most of the time.
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writing since 2010 · 62 entries · 59 days shown up
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the words Jamie reaches for
shelterfreshescapefearworknamefamilyheartlovewatermiddlewindwordideatestbow