My neighbor mows his lawn by the light of the moon. I listen to the whirr of the tractor’s motor grow near, and then recede. As if he follows the glow as the earth revolves, and the moon rises, or appears to. What does he think about, out there in the dark? His father recently died. Grief grips us by the lapels, throws us off balance. Maybe it is only under the cover of darkness that he finds solace. All the sudden, unbidden memories becalmed by the clamor of the engine. Maybe the moon massages the nostalgia into something manageable.
a flood of wildflowers
For dverse Haibun Monday. Something I don’t do nearly enough of….
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Emma wonders if any of the others are thinking of Macbeth and his witches. The kindling takes hold with a loud crack. Sparks flash, and rise into the night. Someone has thought to bring food this time: a pot of chili in a small cast-iron cauldron. Emma cannot imagine anyone will taste it. Their hunger is not for food. The pipe sizzles at the touch of the lighter. The itch of anticipation glides along her forearms. They all say they want to kick the habit. But, they’ve all been through rehab, at least once. It’s where some of them met.
For Tara’s 100Word Challenge… the prompt this week is Habit. So many interpretations… what’s yours?
Thank you for the card after the delivery of my twin girls. I appreciate your congratulations though I somehow think a Good Luck card might be more appropriate. Already, I find the need to steel myself against the lowest common denominator of our society that seeks to undo all the gains our gender has worked tirelessly to secure. Have you read the Twitter comments on a recent Jeopardy contestant’s breasts? But, I must not despair. With luck, hard work, and fine role models my girls will not be cheerleaders, and will eschew every hue of pink.
For Tara’s 100-Word Challenge. The word is Luck. Try it… Join in the fun!
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The toasted pecans were his idea. She conceded, as she always did. But, not before wondering why she stayed married to a man who behaved more like one of their children than an equal partner in this fleeting, matchstick-constructed game of Life. Why wasn’t she in Greece fighting the migrants for beach towel space on a sun-drenched shore? Isn’t that where all the housewives of Lifetime melodramas turned up? Tumbling into the beds of drop-dead gorgeous locals who really, really love them?
She popped a pecan in her mouth. All right! They did add a certain joie-de-vivre to a salad.
For Tara’s 100 word challenge… the word is “idea.”
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She steps outside looking as if she has just risen from a tangle of warm sheets, her eyes half-closed, black hair an unbrushed jumble of coarse curls, an old-fashioned broom in her hand that looks as if it, too, has just awakened from a dream, spikes of dirty blonde hair at odd angles. She sets to work sweeping a day’s accumulated dust from her tiny porch onto the unwatered patch of lawn. How peculiar that one so young, she can’t be but twenty, performs a daily ablution like a spinster in a historical novel who lives utterly alone.
I got wind from my writing friends that the 100 Word Challenge – the prompt is “peculiar” – has been resurrected by Tara. Seeing so many familiar names of much-admired friends I felt I had to join in. Please click the icon and read some fine short stories, both fiction and non-fiction.
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