This week, my sentences are focusing on describing setting and atmosphere.
Friday, August 19, 2016
The mist hung like a pale shroud over the world. Only the tree was clear. Everything else looked as if it were being viewed through an old, dusty window; distant and ghostly.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
The pages fought to fold back, but were carefully tucked under the plate, so she could eat breakfast without losing a moment with her book. Inspiration was contained within and the need to eat was not going to deprive her of a moment's worth of hunting. Juice from the Govenor's sauce dripped swamp green on the pages, as she pulled the green tomatoes from the jar. "Hard to find green tomatoes. Have to get the farmers to grow them special," the voice of Tom, the owner of the farmhouse that makes her preserves, echoed through her head. Each time she went in, he would tell her the same old stories, but the preserves were so good that she never tired of hearing them. Every once in a while, Tom would drop in a new nugget about his life. He had been a carpenter, until he met Ruby, then preserves became his life. She was thankful they did, she thought as she laddled more of the Governor's Sauce onto her breakfast. The cat howling at the door broke her reverie.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Sometimes, when the summer has been long and dry, the world exhales at the rain. Everything slows, things stay inside and you all sit and enjoy the rain and the life it brings with it. Last night, Gord Downie played his last concert 20 miles down the road in Kingston. The weather was hot and the breeze was strong and warm. The air was electric. The entire country vibrated. This moring, it wept and sat in comfortable silence as the rain covered the earth in a country's joyful sorrow.
It's these, the quiet moments. The ones that last forever. Silent and still. A pause in time, where you can just exhale. The sound of the river after the storm. Bows and flows of angel hair. The sunset shiloouetting the horizon. Once, right now, just sit. And breathe.
Monday, August 22, 2016
The sssst of the candle caught her attention. Pupils wide. Gaze affixed to the flickering light. I watched anxiously to see if she decides to pounce. Another sound pulls her focus and she is across the room, crawling in cupboards and nooks. She disappears until I call her back again. Who knows what mischief she can get into out of sight.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
The sound of crickets and some other humming bug filled the night air, as she turned out the light. A cool breeze wafted through the open window, but not enough to justify the wool socks she wore. 'Don't disturb the cat,' she thought, as her feet began to throb from heat. She longed for an off-switch for the insect cacophony; whoever said 'nautre is peaceful,' lied.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
It was too early to sleep, yet too late to start a new chore. The vacuum lay in the middle of the living room floor. Cat fur still carpeting the rug. The cat sat atop the luggage, as if to say, "can we go home now?" She looked around at her new woodland sanctuary and pressed the duct tape back onto the wall, where it held the wood panels together. "Yup, this will do just fine."
Thursday, August 25, 2016
The pink heels sat on the shelf above the door collecting dust, waiting for an event that had yet to come. The house smelled of stale cat food. Recent rain had left the air damp and sticky, and ripe with unfavourable odors. Yellow light blanketed the room, coming from an old touch-lamp in the corner. She often wondered why that fad had died out, it seemed so practical. The bed was hard, but she didn't seem to mind. It was a place to lay her head. She wrestled with finding a balance between blankets and sheets in the cool but humid night; she had to account for the 8lbs of fur that would inevitably drape itself over her already bare legs.
Friday, August 19, 2016
The mist hung like a pale shroud over the world. Only the tree was clear. Everything else looked as if it were being viewed through an old, dusty window; distant and ghostly.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
The pages fought to fold back, but were carefully tucked under the plate, so she could eat breakfast without losing a moment with her book. Inspiration was contained within and the need to eat was not going to deprive her of a moment's worth of hunting. Juice from the Govenor's sauce dripped swamp green on the pages, as she pulled the green tomatoes from the jar. "Hard to find green tomatoes. Have to get the farmers to grow them special," the voice of Tom, the owner of the farmhouse that makes her preserves, echoed through her head. Each time she went in, he would tell her the same old stories, but the preserves were so good that she never tired of hearing them. Every once in a while, Tom would drop in a new nugget about his life. He had been a carpenter, until he met Ruby, then preserves became his life. She was thankful they did, she thought as she laddled more of the Governor's Sauce onto her breakfast. The cat howling at the door broke her reverie.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Sometimes, when the summer has been long and dry, the world exhales at the rain. Everything slows, things stay inside and you all sit and enjoy the rain and the life it brings with it. Last night, Gord Downie played his last concert 20 miles down the road in Kingston. The weather was hot and the breeze was strong and warm. The air was electric. The entire country vibrated. This moring, it wept and sat in comfortable silence as the rain covered the earth in a country's joyful sorrow.
It's these, the quiet moments. The ones that last forever. Silent and still. A pause in time, where you can just exhale. The sound of the river after the storm. Bows and flows of angel hair. The sunset shiloouetting the horizon. Once, right now, just sit. And breathe.
Monday, August 22, 2016
The sssst of the candle caught her attention. Pupils wide. Gaze affixed to the flickering light. I watched anxiously to see if she decides to pounce. Another sound pulls her focus and she is across the room, crawling in cupboards and nooks. She disappears until I call her back again. Who knows what mischief she can get into out of sight.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
The sound of crickets and some other humming bug filled the night air, as she turned out the light. A cool breeze wafted through the open window, but not enough to justify the wool socks she wore. 'Don't disturb the cat,' she thought, as her feet began to throb from heat. She longed for an off-switch for the insect cacophony; whoever said 'nautre is peaceful,' lied.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
It was too early to sleep, yet too late to start a new chore. The vacuum lay in the middle of the living room floor. Cat fur still carpeting the rug. The cat sat atop the luggage, as if to say, "can we go home now?" She looked around at her new woodland sanctuary and pressed the duct tape back onto the wall, where it held the wood panels together. "Yup, this will do just fine."
Thursday, August 25, 2016
The pink heels sat on the shelf above the door collecting dust, waiting for an event that had yet to come. The house smelled of stale cat food. Recent rain had left the air damp and sticky, and ripe with unfavourable odors. Yellow light blanketed the room, coming from an old touch-lamp in the corner. She often wondered why that fad had died out, it seemed so practical. The bed was hard, but she didn't seem to mind. It was a place to lay her head. She wrestled with finding a balance between blankets and sheets in the cool but humid night; she had to account for the 8lbs of fur that would inevitably drape itself over her already bare legs.
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