For Sunday Whirl and Magpie Tales: –
Sunday Whirl words: crawl
stain bluff shadows corona trembled vessels nail brush willow stones mud
Sunday Whirl words: crawl
stain bluff shadows corona trembled vessels nail brush willow stones mud
The stained aged papers sat there, in the shadows of the old
wall of mud and stones. They could see the grand old willow through the window
and watched it, wondering why it wept so. They trembled in the air that blew
occasionally hoping the nails that held them secure would not give up on them –
after all, they had a close brush with death by wind before. As they quietly rustled in the gentle wind and
spoke volumes with each rustle, they heard a familiar but unwanted sound – it was
coming from the direction of where the lady of the house had just stacked the
vessels she had got inside. It was the sound of their old enemy – the bookworm –
not the human kind but the one that had destroyed their family until only they
remained – sole survivors of the notes of a writer long gone. As they watched
him crawl towards them, the sunlight shone on the stainless steel vessels,
lending the humble bookworm a royal corona. They rustled a little louder in
fear and watched as the bookworm stopped mid-crawl, startled by the sudden
noise. It was the rustling – they realized – scaring him – and trembled some
more and watched him pause yet again – would he call their bluff? Would he know
it was fear from their side or could they scare him off? And now they hoped, they prayed for a bigger
gust of wind, and prayed, yet again, that the nails would endure.
wall of mud and stones. They could see the grand old willow through the window
and watched it, wondering why it wept so. They trembled in the air that blew
occasionally hoping the nails that held them secure would not give up on them –
after all, they had a close brush with death by wind before. As they quietly rustled in the gentle wind and
spoke volumes with each rustle, they heard a familiar but unwanted sound – it was
coming from the direction of where the lady of the house had just stacked the
vessels she had got inside. It was the sound of their old enemy – the bookworm –
not the human kind but the one that had destroyed their family until only they
remained – sole survivors of the notes of a writer long gone. As they watched
him crawl towards them, the sunlight shone on the stainless steel vessels,
lending the humble bookworm a royal corona. They rustled a little louder in
fear and watched as the bookworm stopped mid-crawl, startled by the sudden
noise. It was the rustling – they realized – scaring him – and trembled some
more and watched him pause yet again – would he call their bluff? Would he know
it was fear from their side or could they scare him off? And now they hoped, they prayed for a bigger
gust of wind, and prayed, yet again, that the nails would endure.
The costumed actor at the Faire & I watched, wanting but
unable (ah,motion sickness) – yet glad to appreciate the joy contained in the
ride.
unable (ah,motion sickness) – yet glad to appreciate the joy contained in the
ride.
You're right, young people do find rides like this joyful and, even if we don't want to participate ourselves, we should be happy for them.
K
Mrs. Jim has those same desires as to eating very spicey Mexican food.
The loves the food but won't eat it because it upsets her stomach.
Nice write, L.in Read,
..
You had me at "willow"…
….oh yes, as nails always do! What a lovely journey you took me through! A wind swept of writing! Bravo!