Today's Slice is brought to you via the second day of Writing Camp. Here I am again killing two birds with one stone again, but hey, that's just the way I roll. LOL.
Write for two minutes to describe a very specific place.
When your two minutes are up, stop writing.
So this is what I came up with after the quick write. I will be trying this with my kiddos after we've been writing for awhile in first grade. I love the idea of finding the sensory details in the school...Be gentle but PLEASE comment!
It has always been her favorite spot to just-be. Her place to hide and think, wonder and worry. Her spot to go when the world is just awakening, and so is she.
It was built by her husband’s two hands and cared for by his loving touch. Its freshness envelopes you, and the stillness invites you to stay for just a bit longer.
It is here her children found treasures, buried a first pet, dug great motes and mansions, ran wildly through waterfalls and rainforests, hit game winning homeruns, told endless tales, and brought her their troubles. And it is here they learned the meaning of gathering and family ties that bind.
This is the spot she yearns for in the winter, and excitedly unfurrows in the spring, soaking in the richness of the newly unblanketed earth with each turn of the shovel. She lets the richness of the sandy dark soil sift through her cool hands, and embed itself under nails and in her pores.
And yet on this morning, this day, it seems different it seems restless. She seems different- restless.
She watches as the sprinkler makes its steady rotation. Spat, spat, spat it slaps at the hardened ground. In the next breath she sees and hears the pleet, pleet as it dances across an old washtub and metal glider; both faded and peeling from the abuse of the summer sun.
The smile that hasn’t yet reached her eyes quickly disappears as she skirts her way across the yard away from the spray as it thrumps its way across an empty cup tossed from the table by a gust of wind; instead of her bare legs.
Maybe she should have stayed still, should have let the fleeting shower wash over her. Wash over her soul.
She turns and can’t help but feel the lure of the sprinkler. The pull of how her life is so much the same. Everything changing as it washes over. And it, doing its best to stay steady, stays its course; while the wind unseen, teases, pulling and pushing at its edges.
She feels comfort in its steadiness, in its faithful rotation, in its suggestion of new beginnings and new life.
Her life pours from this spot, just as the water empties from her sprinkler, staying its course and yet reaching out to all who encompass it.
This is her spot to- be. It is her place to feel and smell, think and wonder. It’s her place to gather family and friends and keep their stories and thoughts close to her heart. It is her place to feel and think and know, and yet today it's, different. She is… restless.