Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays.
Our hidden place, a hollow in rustled leaves, tangled roots, as the river meanders close. I inhale verdant greenery and twigs crunch underfoot, as we sit on tree stumps near the shore.
Some occasions, the river trickles and torrents. At times, it’s poured buckets, and the banks pass eerie, too close to our feet. Sometimes it’s a kiss on our runners as we wade.
In the gleaming sun, the dimple of your left cheek lifts. Your grey-blue eyes sparkle; my hands clench as we banter. They curl around bark, roughness masking my wish to touch your hair — a hint of gray you deny. Your laughter resonates, and we quip as usual. I ruin my white Adidas twirling them in dirt. As the river, your stories flow; but, you’re to far — and to near all at once.
I peer up, nip my lip. “Keep me.” Two words implored.
Lilly was 18-years old and despite turning a year older, hated she wasn’t able to leave their house on the lake for a city university, not the prep-college in town; Lilly’s family had for generations owned a winery near her current university in Napa. After a dull birthday party she swung to-and-fro on her treasured porch swing, and scowled at the lake — her charcoaled eyes brimming tears; Lilly wondered how much criticism she’d have to endure until she could attend any university she desired in Fall. She had achieved the SAT grades for a scholarship far from the winery and her Aunt’s persistent nagging and constant mention of Lilly’s waistline; she longed for the days could attend school far north in Canada without perpetual hunger.
Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting #100WordWednesdays
The driver had spun off the road decades ago and the grass climbed the old Ford’s wheels as each rainfall it grew like vines to the window sills in the cow’s pasture. The current farmer, not able to haul the truck from his fields, began to mow around it with respect for its rusted history; the story was, witnesses 50-years ago, didn’t see the driver leave. Upon examining the wreck they’d been shocked to see the driver’s seat empty, and now and then, the farmer’s daughter watched the stars from the front seat: she swore a young man in suspenders peered at the sky beside her, his hand grazing hers.
For OctPoWriMo Day 30 the Prompt is dancing on the moon. I’m combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery”s Menagerie Same But Different, Saturday Mix prompt. For this week we need to find synonyms for the following words: water, fabric, polish, switch, and floor.