Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Textured purple silk with mini white polka dots in a grid pattern is the cravat this evening. She could hear the easy flow of conversation punctuated here and there with appreciative and genuine laughter. It was astonishing, really, how well things were going. Their work friends were getting along with their social friends, the lamb came out beautifully medium rare, and now all she had to do was finish getting dessert ready. Her dark, dense chocolate cake was gorgeous, and she took the pan of baco noir granita out of the freezer. Her fork left perfect shards of icy wine as she scraped the tines along the surface over and over again. She placed a scoop atop each sliver of cake. It was then that she glimpsed her apron hanging on the back of the chair. Panicking, she looked at the front of her white tunic, certain she would see spots of wine.
Brought to Life by Nance at 11:00 PM
Monday, May 5, 2014
How lovely, and how unexpected! Mr. Williams resurrects a long-absent striper of beach sand and bluesky for viewers this evening. She didn't care that it was too cold to go in the water. All she knew was that as soon as she was near the ocean, she was going to find a way to get close to it, close enough to find a way to pull over and walk right to it and stand at its rim, looking at its impossible vastness. She had spent all of her life landlocked, closed in by dirt and grass and trees and crowds. There was something in her that needed to see the immense possibility of expanse. Something that was churning with life below, holding promise and holding secrets. A huge promise of life within what looked like only emptiness.
Brought to Life by Nance at 11:37 PM
Thursday, May 1, 2014
As The Report struggles to regain its composure after a rare airing of the once ubiquitous Original Evil Tie, Brian knots up the slender stripes of deep turquoise and worsted grey-blue. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders and hoped it would stop the chill draft. It was early spring, but she had awakened to frost every morning this week. Bright sun belied the freezing temperatures, and the cloudless sky only meant crisper cold. Her hands ached; she drew on old wool gloves with the fingertips cut off and set the teapot on to boil. From the basket on the floor, she unearthed her knitting and sat down to work the arthritis out of her fingers while waiting for tea.
Brought to Life by Nance at 11:09 PM