This week for Write on Wednesday we are back to our faithful timer and the challenge of writing to a prompt for five minutes. The wonderful Emily Dickinson and “Bring me sunshine in a cup”.
Bring me sunshine in a cup.
Place it gently on the table, right in front on me. Watch the dust motes dance and swirl in the early summer breeze.
Feel the glowing warmth rising. But what is it? What is the strange sensation of warmth and light? Is it the tea? Is it the warm breeze? It is the warm thoughts of home rising quietly within me as I sip the tea. Soon, soon I will be there again. Home. Where the sunshine just seeps in and is not confined to a mere cup of warmth and light. Home. Where the close spaces with their familiarity ease me back into the rhythm of living. Where the simple pleasures of tea, a bath and a moment’s peace in the sun can begin to restore me. To give me back the zest. To give me back the calm. Like a soothing balm the light illuminates my face.
3 o’clock. An unexpected early afternoon at home. It was a warm but overcast afternoon. How to enjoy the extra time?
A trip to the shops. A time filler. An afternoon treat. Toddler’s favourite. We set off. Man, woman and child. Oh and the cat. At the bottom of the drive we encounter our first hurdle. The road.
Walk on the path. Walk with daddy, hold his hand. Off we go again. Back on the path.
Oh look here’s the cat. Following. The toddler wheels around to see the cat, then races for the road.
It's a slow procession
We are hold hands with the small boy between us. His legs swing, his shoes scrape the concrete. He twists and wriggles in our grasp. One hand and then the other wrenches free. The small boy pokes at a tiny moth lying prostrate on the footpath. A tiny victim of spring. The man leans down to tell the small boy all about the moth. He pokes it gently. Its damaged wings flutter pathetically but it is too broken to fly away.
Walk on the path. Hold daddy’s hand. I say these words over and over again.
The small boy wriggles free again. Takes a few rapid steps into a front garden. He runs around in circles all over the lawn which is still settling in. I notice the strips of turf haven’t matted together yet, the lines are clearly visible.
Eventually we all make it to the top of the strip of shops. I see a flash of grey and white dart into a shrub across the road. Our cat, sits crouched and anxious, waiting. We make our way down the wide footpath. Every sandwich board is carefully inspected, hidden behind. Each piece of street art examined in minute detail. I am impatiently pacing back and forth trying to encourage my unruly band to follow me toward the supermarket. But there are dogs to pat, rubbish to be picked up, sculptures to fondle. There is absolutely no urgency to the journey. I am the only one who is impatient. I shift from foot to foot. Check the time. Try once more to drag the toddler a few more metres down the footpath toward the supermarket. I am wearing myself out. He turns and runs back to me. His cold hands wrap around my legs and he buries his face in my skirt.
Such is my mother love that even though I know he only wants to sit on my lap so he can eat my breakfast, I let him.
Write one good line to describe part of your day.
As Karen says the one line is like a “tiny little paper plane that must travel a big distance”.
Piqued by the absence of wallet, the dark formal shoes, she waited impatiently for the evening.
For the actual date, the one they had arranged a week ago. Not the accidental, impulsive coffee date, which wasn’t a date, but it was.
The order of things was not quite right but the intrigue level was high. She rang one of her friends. Do I have to dress up? There was an audible intake of breath and then a shriek. YES, of course you do. Why are you on the phone? Go and get beautiful. Get dressed. Go now! Goodbye.
For weeks she had been trying not to think about the possibilities. Now, after coming back here to face the new life she had haltingly started only a few months before, romance was the furthermost thing from her mind. Now, mind racing, she had to think about it.
This week’s Write on Wednesday idea comes from this lovely place.
Right. Down to business. This week’s Write on Wednesday is really truly a writing exercise. As a blog post, it may not be that interesting. I don’t know, I haven’t written it yet. If you get bored you may like to read this or this or this.
This week there were a few choice words of advice provided by Kylie Ladd over at Life In A Pink Fibro. To help. Or make us more intimidated by her excellent characteristion, depending on your point of view. This week too, there is a little more explanation required. The instructions the lovely Gillian has given for this week’s Write on Wednesday are ‘Think with Character’. I am going to write about the character from this post. Read More
The clock winked. In the dark room as she turned over, the green panel glowed and illuminated one side of her face. As she turned, she saw it over her shoulder. It was dark and quiet. A winter early morning, the sun wouldn’t make it over the mountain for another two hours. She was still but not asleep. She could see perfectly well by the glow of the clock, 2.56 it told her. It was mocking her again. Why was she awake? Again? All these freezing dark nights, with no early easterly sun streaming in. Too cold to get up early, it was the perfect weather for sleeping til the last possible moment. Yet here she was not asleep.
Over and over in her mind she turned the conversation. Just wait here, she had said. Wait? Here? Why had she tried to reconnect. It was finished. In the dust of the past. And then, suddenly, she re-opened it. Now here she was, in the glow of the clock, awake, in the middle of the night.
‘I can’t stress how important it is that we behead this fiend.’
‘I can’t take it anymore, it’s ruining my life.’ Read More
He filled his glass, emptied it, and fell silent, immersed in his own thoughts. Just wait here, she had said. Wait? Here? For what? It’d been more than five years since he had seen her. Six years? Maybe seven years? Long enough to have thought he’d never see her again. Long enough to have forgotten all about the promises he had made. Wishes they had long ago left behind unfulfilled, bubbled up in his mind. Read More
I need some help. (No not like that!)
This week on Write On Wednesday, I have to chose the eighth book from the shelf and use the eighth line from the eighth page to start a five minute writing exercise. Fine except which shelf? Read More
I remember leaning in, taking hold of his arm and giving it a good sniff. I inhaled his smell. Deeply and luxuriantly, I breathed him in. I couldn’t say why I wanted to smell him, only that I did. He was bemused but allowed me to press my nose to his forearm. At this stage of the wonder at meeting someone who he really liked, I think he would have let me do pretty much anything I liked.
The smell was exquisite to my love worn and tired senses. It was manly and clean and warm. I liked it at once. Perhaps, I had read something about new lovers and how the pheromones attract, like moths to a flame. Perhaps I temporarily took leave of my senses. I don’t know now.
It was very late in the evening. It was to be an anti-climatic inhale. Soon he would graciously thank me. Tell me how much he enjoyed my company. And suddenly he would be gone. Forever after that moment there would be a him shaped hole inside my soul when he wasn’t right there next to me.
That smell of his warm delicious skin remains with me. Now, it is so familiar to me, I can’t perceive it again in quite the same way.
This week’s task for Write it Wednesday was about dialogue.
Specifically, Detective Dialogue: For this exercise you need to be a little bit sneaky. And brave. You need to be around at least 2 other people (or a small child who will happily chat to himself and/or imaginary friends). Write down a conversation/ dialogue exchange as you hear it.
Now I totally failed this task.