fragments / no2 / rushing

Thursday, February 19, 2015


It was the new grass that had sprung from the damp earth, the tiny green strands striving towards the sky. Also there were those granules of sand that clung, always, to the kitchen floor. That silk slip draped over the bedroom door handle, the color of the sea before the storm. There were the open windows in the living room, the piles of books and magazines stacked in all the corners, half finished and abandoned. Two separate sets of shoes flung off one night and left under the coffee table, in front of that deep and cushy couch. (It looked like an oddly misshaped potato.)

Then of course there was the sky, the garden path, the light that changed from dawn to afternoon to dusk. There were the clouds rolling in and out, tinged with the sun behind them. The faint sound of something rushing in the distance, the cool slate stones leading back to the front door.

One of my goals for 2015 is to write everyday, with a particular emphasis on writing fiction. Thank you for reading along and sticking with me while I practice putting stories and words onto the page.

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