It was a beautifully crafted dome providing light and color to the dining area. The little blond child in a red jacket couldn’t stop looking. As he gazed upward, though, his face became less animated. His big blue eyes became fearful
He tugged on Mommy’s sleeve. “Mommy, we need to go!” He wasn’t usually a demanding child, so his mother paid attention.
“Are you sick? What’s the matter?”
“I’m scared! Those branches are reaching to get me!”
They got out just in time.
Tabby leaned against the heavy door. Stepping inside, she took in the quiet, like a cool wash of rain on a hot day.
She padded to the children’s section. Most of the books were well-used. Running her finger along the spines, she found one she hadn’t read. She took it to a corner filled with beanbag chairs.
Legs crossed, Tabby plopped into a chair, taking delight in the fanciful cover.
As she began to read, everything else fell away. For just a while, she could go into a world where no one would hurt her.
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I want to apologize for my limited participation last week. I usually read every post. Not this time. I think I read the first five. It was just a very busy week, lots of interruptions, and then I caught a nasty cold–no, not THE PLAGUE–and just couldn’t keep up. I’m looking forward to the stories this week. It’s a prompt that could go in so many different directions!
“The one on the right, the grey one? That’s a little girl on a scooter. Her ponytail is streaking out behind her.”
“Okay. The big one, just off-center, is a camel lying down with his legs tucked under.”
“Ha! Good one! And just above the camel’s head, off to the left a little, looks like the mouth of a dog or wolf. You can see his nose, a little darker than the rest of him.”
“How long can we keep this up?”
“Forever. Look at all the clouds on the horizon!”
“I love you forever.”
“Love you forever, too.”
When the bell rang, the other students rushed to start their weekends.
Joseph didn’t hear the bell. Absorbed in his work, he was in a different realm. He loved everything about art class. The smells of the paper, the paints, the solution for cleaning brushes–it was all part of every painting he produced. It was his passion.
He smelled the sweet scent of the flowers he painted. He felt the wind under his wings. His heart beat to the rhythm of the horses’ hoofs.
His dad waited, patient. He knew great things were waiting for his son.
Just Writing! 