One Hundred Words : The Simple Pleasure of an Apple

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A bit of rubbing on my sweater enhances the apple’s skin to a glow. The faint aroma is reminiscent of cantaloupe, with a hint of lemon. As I pierce the skin, there is a mind numbing crackle. My teeth slide through the succulent flesh, rending juices which dribble down my chin. My mouth fills with them both sweet and tart with the tough bitterness of the skin lingering on. The second bite, blends the sensations and flavors. A hard crunch, soft chew followed by delicious juice. I challenge you to eat an apple; outside, with the wind catching your hair.

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One Hundred Words – the memory of the day ahead

The air had the scent of summers past; when the morning was spent in anticipation of the day ahead. I remember the light breeze and coolness of the day that lifted my hair as I helped to pack the car for the trip to my aunt’s house. I could capture it for you; a mix of bird song the scent of flowers and the essence of sun starting to warm the day. A calm unfettered feeling with only the movement towards our arrival. I would see my cousins, drink lemonade, eat tiny egg salad sandwiches, and walk in the woods.

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One Hundred Words – The Game – Sunday April 28, 2013

IMG_6440“It’s your turn.” I say handing him the small white dice. They make a pleasant sound as he shakes them and land with a plunk on the table. “Six!” He says with glee, obviously not understanding  that a low number is not that desirable. A few more pieces of colored paper move into his meager pile. His turn is played and the dice come to me. I hold them in hand testing their weight and roll them between my fingers thinking of tens and twelves. The roll is disappointing; only an eight. I buy some colored papers and move on.

Through the gate – 100 words – One Hundred Words

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The sweet smell of lilac in full bloom hit me long before I touched the cold metal of the gate. The morning was chilly despite the sun’s warmth. A breeze lifted my hair and rustled the branches. I released the latch. The garden was still loved, but plainly far too much work for aging hands. The green burst of spring had consumed the bare spaces left by winter die-back. I put down my basket of tools and laid the blanket near the wildest part. Gathering my well-worn skirt to one side, I settled myself, surveying the smaller world.

The Old Bones – 100 Words – Weekly Writing Challenge – Sunday April 7, 2013

The bones were old, creamy beige with dark brown crevices. You could imagine my surprise to find them so neatly stacked behind the shed. They were gleaming, as if someone had washed and dried them. It was more likely that the rain and wind had done the thorough cleaning. Brushing stray leaves away, I lifted the top bone. It was lighter than I expected and still warm from the sun. I brought the flared lens of the bone analyzer close. There were no fractures in this one. It was long, tapering to a wide end point where it joined something.

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100 Words – A Strange Dream in One Hundred Words – Sunday, March 31, 2013

526523_10150971981357895_1354717364_nThe camp was deserted. We picked a random spot to pitch the tent. I head towards the car to get the last pole set and am  surprised that so many people have arrived. An acquaintance asks for help moving; a strange assortment of damaged sports equipment and battered musical instruments. I ask her to teach me guitar tuning. She asks where the next event is. I tell her that it’s over. She asks who won, but I don’t know. We scan the newspaper as we’re waiting for the pedestrian signal to change. Bicycles rush by on the rubble filled street.

100 Words – Sunday March 24, 2013 – Weekly Writing Challenge

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My self-imposed Sunday Weekly Writing Challenge: To quickly write exactly one hundred words on whatever topic, theme or idea that wanders through my head that morning. Inspired by medium.com to give credit where it is due. Here’s this week’s 100 Words:

The call of “sweetie” over and over again, was creating an auto loop in my head even when the bird was silent. It was slowly driving me insane. I considered some sort of violent extermination and then reconsidered. It was spring after all, and the poor bird had only a few words with which to seduce and nest a mate. Pity consumed me. I should not be judging the evolution of this tiny creature. The solution was to turn up the music to run interference. The rasp of the singer’s voice soothed me and I forgot all about the bird.