PRACTICE
It's summer and the weather is beautiful—at least where I live. Today, your writing prompt is to write about the sun, the summer, the warm weather.
Write for fifteen minutes. When your time is up, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, please be sure to read a few practices by your fellow writers and give feedback.
Happy writing!
Photo by Zach Dischner
Hesitant to post, but reminded myself that we’re talking rough drafts here, so here’s mine. I don’t usually work in Present Tense, but it felt right for this moment.
Summer’s End
Sitting on the deck, I stare into the darkening horizon as evening eases across the ocean. Sunset warms the back of my shoulders and stretches shadows over silver-gray boards of cottage and deck. The sound of waves competes with tires speeding along the beach highway, both underscoring the sense of another vacation is slipping through my fingers.
Memories flicker across my mind’s eye like old movies. Dancing on bare foot across hot sand to spread a faded blanket. Smoothing coconut-scented oil over skin slowly baking to golden brown. Sipping sunset margaritas over board games not played since childhood. Living a temporary life of leisure in a world removed.
One final memory of time pushing toward me on white-capped waves before plucking the keys from the table. Time to hit the road.
Great imagery, I sense a story here.
Thank you, Jay! Even though I haven’t been to the beach yet, I’m already nostalgic for summer.
Wow. This is simply captivating. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you, Joy!
Very nice. I see what you mean about using the active voice. The imagery is wonderful and nostalgic. I like it. Do you write flash fiction? You’d be good at it.
Why thank you, Dana! I’ve never really done much flash fiction because I’m unfamiliar with its parameters. If this works, then I’m totally delighted!
This has a warm pleasant feel of knowing how to enjoy oneself. I also liked the image of spreading the coconut oil, with its sweet fragrance and smooth feel.
Thank you, Sandra! Yeah, coconut scented tanning lotion is just integral to my summer memories. What WAS that brand we always used? Anyway, glad it came through!
The end of summer always makes me more aware of time passing than the end of any other season. You’ve caught that melancholy feeling.
Thank you, Adelaide! I know what you mean and I’m glad it came through.
Summer Sun
By Dana Feero
Birds woke with singing as the new sun broke through the trees. She hadn’t been here in years; not since she was a child. Her father had sold the property when she was 19, but she supposed that her heart had never left. Her growing up years had been adventurous,with her imagination she’d had many adventures, by the pond with the crawdads and horny toads, she’d imagined it was a swamp where a monster came by night, grabbing little girls and pulling them to their deaths. Then there were the cattails by the pond, which on an evening looked like snakes standing on end ready to strike. She’d tried to go beyond the bank once and nearly got stuck in the mucky waters.
The rocky precipice overlooking the lake had become a stage for performances and a place to go when she was troubled. What wonderful memories. But it couldn’t all be fun. She’d had homework after school and couldn’t stay outside all the time. She loved to
read, but she would have to stay inside to do that, so she chose to bring her
schoolwork outside as often as she could, providing the Oklahoma winds weren’t
too stout and blow her papers away. Then there was Blackie. Her cat, her comfort,
her best friend when she was a child. He knew her. He was a barn cat; had never
been inside the house, but he would appear on the patio steps and meow for
her. Almost like clockwork she would come out and spend time with him. He was
a large black cat with bright golden eyes the color of the summer sun, and he’d
loved her. She had raised him and his litter mates from birth. Their mother
had shown up on the steps one summer afternoon when she was eight, had her kits
and left them there. The concrete was so hot that the little embryos’ had begun to fry.
Anna had been sitting at the kitchen table when the little gray tabby had given birth, and rushed out to rescue the kittens. 10 minutes later they were safely in a cardboard
box with kitchen towels lining the bottom and 3 tiny bodies squirming about. It had been Anna who cleaned the off, Anna who had begun to feed them milk from a tiny bottle, Anna who had weaned them. The other two had been given away. The white one with gray markings like a Siamese, and the long haired one colored gray and white named Boots. But Blackie was her favorite and the one who had taken to her the most.
Wonderful images of transforming the swamp environs into fantastical landscapes. Her child-self was quite brave to have dared such places. The story about Blackie resonated for me since I’ve had cats my entire life. Being new to this site, I don’t know if this is permitted, but I’d caution you about passive voice. Verbs of being have their place, but most can be replaced with more vibrant active words. Look at every “had” and think sharper, brighter. I understand that this is rough draft writing, but even in rough draft I work hard to keep it clean as possible. Less to revise later. Hope that’s helpful. Thank you for sharing.
I love this! Your writing is beautiful. It makes me want to know more about this girl and her home place.
Thank you Joy. the comments have encouraged me and prompted me to make it into a short story. I’m going to re-post the story when I’m finished, God willing.
Great! Please do share it with us when you finish it! 🙂
Will do, Joy. Where are you from?
I’ve always lived in the southeast USA (currently Alabama).
I am ten years removed from green country and knew at the fourth sentence that this was an Oklahoma story. Your regional descriptives are spot on.
It’s an usually pleasant day in late July. The wind rustled the branches of the cheery tree overhead. Sunlight hits the side of my face as I stare at the large rock in front of me. It stands proudly over six feet tall at its highest point. It’s oddly shaped with bulges and crevices. Running my hand against its surface I feel its gritty texture and ridges.
Yellow and brown leaves have fallen around its base, reminding me that fall is not far away.The realization is bittersweet. I love fall, but I also love summer. The seasons change so swiftly, leaving behind only memories of the laughter and tears. But this rock in my backyard stays the same. it stands tall and proud, catching rain in the summer and accepting an occasional dusting of snow in the winter.
I don’t know the story behind the rock and why it remains in my backyard. If it could only talk, it could tell many stories. It could tell of a girl who loves ideas and art and words. Who sits under the cherry tree and sings far to many songs as she strums her steely guitar. It could mimic the laughter of her siblings as they play in the yard. It could tell of family gatherings and memories and life.
But it doesn’t talk. It’s my silent companion–my faithful friend. I love this rock. And perhaps if it could only speak, it would tell me it loved me too.
I like this, Joy and would love to sit next to your rock and think and write.
Thank you. There’s something special about it. 🙂
I like this because it shares with me the bittersweet feeling of seasons changing too fast, of enjoyable times becoming old fond memories and wondering where the time has gone. Sweet.
Thank you, Sandra.
I’m envious! I’d love to have such a steadfast friend in my yard. So curious and, I agree, such a stalwart witness of your life. Your connection comes through nicely. Good stuff!
Thank you, Denise. 🙂
City in the summer was a dreadful place. The heat rose intensely from the concrete sidewalk as Annie walked briskly down the avenue toward her destination, muttering under her breath and wilting under the bright sunlight. It was taking forever to get
to the building that held such promise for her future. A tall, blinding white high rise of cut and polished stone bounced even more sunlight off its smooth, bright surface. Annie grabbed the brass handle on the glass door and drew her hand back sharply as the super-heated metal burned her fingertips. She almost cursed. Almost. But this job interview was so very important, she had to maintain her composure, even if she hadn’t made it inside yet. She felt her forehead sweating and even though she had used plenty of roll-on deodorant, her underarms began to stain the pale ivory-colored muslin of her blouse. Her job interview power suit was not chosen with hot midday city sun in mind. As she shook her hand and sucked her fingertip now turning red as though she had touched a hot stove, she looked up and squinted. The great gold orb hung directly overhead. High noon. There was not a tree, a shrub, a flower, or even a weed to absorb the heat. Nothing but stone and brick and glass and concrete. She felt her carefully curled bangs wilting, her pantyhose beginning to itch, clinging to her legs, and her makeup beginning to run.
I’m melting!, she though to herself. Gently she took a tissue from her purse and used it to grab the handle and open the door. She stepped inside the building to an instant blast of cool, refrigerated air. Annie sighed with relief. Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she crossed the lobby to the elevator and quickly glanced at the directory. 33rd Floor. There it was. Her new job. Her new destiny. She was ready. Now to prove herself and nail this interview. She smiled, brushed back her hair and pushed the elevator button.
I got hot just reading it. My only suggestion is that if this is to be in a story or a novel to make this description a bit shorter.
thanks Adelaide. I think in a story i would definitely break up the description more. My goal here was to write a scene about someone who was really hot and not really enjoying it!
Very effective! Reminded me of summer in the city, when it’s so hot the asphalt gets squishy. Ugh!
that’s a great detail I had forgotten about. Thanks for the feedback, Avril.
I got a sense of this person and already am interested in her even with the little you put about her in the second paragraph. She seems like a real go getter who will do what she needs to, to get ahead.
Nice beginning, and I was definitely feelin’ the heat! Loud and clear! Your character’s discomfort, physical and mental, was nicely turned. I agree that shortening is necessary because the second paragraph contains the real hook. If you can, I’d suggest finding a way to put just a dash of that into the first line, hinting at the importance of her having to suffer through summer in the city on This Day and in This Place. Keep going!
A SUMMER DUSK
It is late dusk. The tall pines are silhouettes against the fading light in the sky, still streaking purple with a tinge of pink. Soon all color is gone and the first star appears. Star light. Star bright. What wishes I had as a child. To be a ballerina. A silly wish as there was no money for ballet lessons. To have a doll house. I did get that wish. Not the big dollhouse I saw
in the department store toy section, but a dollhouse.
My wishes now are different. Health for family and continued love and security. Perhaps some rain to cool off this muggy night. And a breeze to chase away the mosquitoes which are not repulsed by the citronella candles.
crickets and tree frogs
are they singing or wishing
on a star?
it’s almost like a poem. there’s a certain cadence that is pleasing.
Thanks Jay. This is Japanese poetic form called a haibun which combines prose with a haiku.
I have not heard of haibun before Adelaide. It is a lovely form, like the text prepares a solid base, and then you can use it to spring off with the haiku. Nice writing.
Thank you, Avril. If you are interested in reading more haibun check out these on-line journals and search Google for some articles on the form.
http://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/
http://haibuntoday.com/
http://www.unitedhaikuandtankasociety.com/pageguide142.html
Thanks Adelaide. I look forward to discovering and learning about a new (new to me) literary form.
That is amazing. I’ve got to research that now! 🙂
Halibun? How cool is that? I enjoyed the wistful voice of this piece as well as the clear imagery. The haiku is perfect. I’m going to have to investigate and explore this style. Thank you for sharing and showing me something new!
Thank you, Denise. If you are interested in reading more haibun check out these on-line journals and search Google for some articles on the form.
http://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/
http://haibuntoday.com/
http://www.unitedhaikuandtankasociety.com/pageguide142.html
Thank you, Adelaide! I will.
I often find myself announcing that I’m most happy when each strand of my hair is coated in its own skin of ocean salt.
I love the focal soundtrack that these three months offer. The warm wind’s waltz under velvety petals and through pipe cleaner cat tails, the loving attachment the sun seems to have to me as it catches on my skin.
But it isn’t my favorite – I’m actually a lover of winter. Fascinated by glimmering snow banks and the raw nakedness of the planet as she strips down to her bare boned beginnings.
I slip my feet into a pair of blue and black swimming fins and catapult off my perch on the jetty rocks. I dive under the swells as they roll towards the tawny sand grains, outstretched cerulean mouths biting at me to surrender each thought, each worry, each overdone analysis. I push onward, my legs beating me north bound. The salt coats my hair.
The season may not be my favorite, but the saline fluidity that I shoot through proves the happiness I hold for wandering its vast expanse.
I like your words, “catapult off my perch on the jetty rocks. I dive under the swells as they roll towards the tawny sand grains, outstretched cerulean mouths biting at me…”
gracias!
Hi, Franci! Good stuff! I enjoyed the voice and word pictures. Nicely done. Personally, I felt there were a few hiccups that you’ll catch with an edit. The juxtaposition of your winter piece worked well for me, just a tick for comparison before moving on. Write on!
Thanks, Denise! I’m new to Write Practice…Enjoyed your post as well!
An edit….
I often find myself announcing to others that I’m most happy when each strand of my hair is coated in its own skin of ocean salt. It isn’t the summer, it’s that “salt heals,” I always explain, and others sometimes agree, sometimes roll their eyes, sometimes laugh.
I do love the focal soundtrack that these three months offer. The warm wind’s waltz under velvety petals and through pipe cleaner cat tails, the maternal attachment the sun seems to have to me as it catches on my skin and follows me all over.
But I’m actually a lover of winter. Fascinated by glimmering snow banks, December skies, the raw nakedness of the planet as she strips down to her bare boned beginnings. If the swimming season for humans were to pause in a handstand and remain there forever, in that season of the bare boned Earth, I’d cry out with joy.
How I’d love to trek over not sand dunes, but snow dunes, to dip my body into the crystally turbulence of winter waters. If I could remain there for hours… How I’d enjoy surfacing to lure icy air into my lungs as pillowy clouds sprinkled flakes onto my head. But I’m a wimp. Even the densest of wetsuits cannot provide me the shelter I need from such an environment. A miracle it would be for me to keep up with my brothers as they surf the January waves.
So the summer has to do. I’ll slip my feet into a pair of blue and black swimming fins and catapult off my perch on the jetty rocks. I’ll dive under the swell as it rolls towards the tawny sand grains. It’ll take on the form of outstretched cerulean mouths. They’ll bite at me to surrender each thought, each worry, each overdone analysis. Each wish for winter or a sunny day or a lovelier face or anything else that’s ever surfaced in my mind.
The salt will coat it all and I’ll push onward, my legs beating me North bound.
I’ll shoot through the saline fluidity and wander its vast expanse. I’ll entirely forget which season is painted above the surface. I’ll entirely forget everything above the surface. This, I explain to everyone, is how salt heals.
This is a lovely sharing Franci. Some beautiful prose and clever use of metaphor.
My favourite paragraph (if I were to pick one), is the description of winter and the ‘… Raw nakedness of the planet.’
I love the ocean and the freedom of swimming unburdened, but it is winter here at the moment (Southern Hemisphere), and I find that equally compelling and energising.
Lovely writing I’d like to read more.
Thanks for sharing
Regards Dawn
Thanks so much, Dawn!
Your images shimmer like the water you dive into. I enjoyed it up to the last line, which seemed a little awkward and difficult to understand without rereading. How about something like, “The season may not be my favorite, but as I shoot through the saline fluidity the proof of my happiness is found in wandering its vast expanse.”
great job!
how sweet! thanks so much. Endings are always the weakest for me…loved your suggestion.
I really like your expressive prose with its metaphors and vivid imagery. Your creative writing flows and this is what keeps a reader reading. Personally, I liked your ending. It mirrors the same sentiment as your first sentence. Nice work!
that means a lot, thank you!!
The sun warmed his skin as he sat by the lake. His shirtless body beginning to feel the heat rather than the cool from the water as he sat on the dirty bank. Skin getting sticky from the lake water evaporating into the universe while leaving behind all it keeps, microbes, bacteria, invisible living things. His hair was drying slowly against his face as his jeans dried even slower. He could already feel the chafe in his crotch beginning even though he hadn’t moved much since he came out of the water. Sitting, sunning, drying, thinking, remembering. He knew the ass of his jeans would be caked in loamy mud or silty sand depending on how long he felt like remaining stagnant. The cuffs also. They were too long. Hand me downs never fit and always had to be adjusted every thirty seconds of the waking day. He figured if he sat there long enough he would be able to just brush off the bank’s remnants from the seat of his britches and spare his father’s Cutlass the depravity of not being treated like an archived queen. These thoughts and how he’d answer the questions about his day are what consumed the back of his mind while in the front of his mind he thought about how long it took to get cancer from the sun and did the dark spots already peppering his shoulders mean something lurked deeper, needing concern. He always worried about things that couldn’t be seen. He was haphazard in a semi responsible way. He was a concerned person, just concerning himself about different things than most folks did. He was surprised that he didn’t fight him as much as he expected although he could still feel the scratch on his face getting warmer as the spot between his eye and ear swelled slowly and purpled a little bit. He couldn’t see anything rising from the lake yet.
Good beginning William, and I see your 15 minutes ran out just when it was getting really interesting. I hope you write us the rest of that thought soon. I think I used to own those nasty chafing jeans too.
I agree with Avril! Nice beginning to what I sense is a truly creepy story. So many lovely images–that “adjusting every thirty seconds of the waking day” was great! Been there! The last two sentences were a delightful surprise. Keep going!
A beautiful day in July, unlike the other days
of sweltering, nearly paralyzing humidity, today is perfect. The engine rev’s
and the yellow lines dividing the road twist and turn as the wind whips through
the windows of the van and a head full of hair waivers erratically. The
all-encompassing sunlight glares down upon the day and as the van muscles
forward towards its destination the glow is magnificent, giving the green grass
a twinkling that makes everything feel friendly and inviting, as if on this
particular Tuesday the fabrics making up the universe has shaped itself into a
smiling, welcoming blanket that covers all able to be seen. The music on the
radio, a folky sound polished with acoustic guitar, a banjo, and a violin
inspire thoughts of a natural place without the racket of a television or the
concerns of that day’s workplace gossip; free from all thoughts of the
stressful responsibilities to come, the clamor of life does not play through
this frequency. Work is done and the hills stretch on leading closer to the
creek where the sun and wind give these waters even more life and it is vital
to stop here and walk one of the many trails. It is summertime. Time to be
alive.
Oh, I do love a road trip and you’ve captured it wonderfully! Nicely done! Write on.
Sophia awakened as the rays of the sun spotted her face through the partially opened blinds. She tried to cover her face with the sheet to no avail. The brightness was relentless, as if telling her to rise and shine—like he had done.
Her plans were to work in the garden hoping that she would finish by the end of the week the project she had started at the beginning of the month. There had been days with very hot temperatures interspersed with rain, and that had delayed her progress, but according to the weather forecast, the month would end with splendid weather. Sophia was intent on taking advantage of that, but as plans have a tendency to veer from their normal course, on this particular day, they did…
Ooo, Claire, leave a gal hanging, why don’t you? Nice opening hook. Keep going.
🙂 Thank you, Denise.
Nice work Claire. I’m interested and now want to know what happened.
Regards Dawn
This was really “off the cuff.” Thanks for your comment, Dawn.
The warmth and reassurance of July
loses its presence by the chilliness and uncertainty of august. We tend to feel
like we have control over our life but we don’t realize how insignificant our existence
can be. I sit on the front porch indulging myself in the old drinking and
smoking habits of our past generations as it is almost part of mutation. The
story of one hundred smiles could be summed up in to five little cries. My beginning
seems more like and ending with a continued story, rather than your usual
boring story. For years to come I won’t understand the essence of how it
becomes alive. All I can really try is to enjoy it while it lasts. There was a
girl from the south, but the story does not begin with her. To this day I don’t
know if she was part of it all or if just my ideas startled her thoughts. For
many years my friends tried to help, now I sit closely to memory lane. There
wasn’t much to do, but try it all. As hard as that seems, I felt it slip through my insecure hands. She
would slowly whisper to anyone else, but even to me it seemed so insane.
Throughout this nightmare, I still made the cut. I wonder now quietly, where
was I wrong. I felt something new and easier, rising ahead. I tried to remember
what it meant, only to come up short with desire and pain. Planning ahead was
never the plan. I should’ve listened to the voice in my head. When one really
cares, he loses his mind. It is so much easier when only the needs are
involved. My habits had to be changed,
that’s why I need to feel loved again. A new messed up road laid ahead. Many of
the speed signs where ignored. It should have been obvious, I should take the
door. Regardless it changed me, in a way so there is us. My letters will prove,
how worse it was. Life showed excellent timing, It was almost short. I wouldn’t
change it, for fear of worse. Now I contemplated, whether this is yours or I am
just crazy to want to be yours. As we fall into this new path, I feel so cold
but it should be easy as we take
control.
Hi, J! I love the voice of this piece, so poignant. The first line is lovely. The little quirks that pulled me out of the piece were mostly my “editor” being picky. There are comments made that really grabbed me but you didn’t follow up on them and I feel that was a mistake, but that’s probably just a personal issue of my own. Things like the “five cries.” What was the nightmare in which your character “made the cut?” I also loved “Planning ahead was never the plan.” Good luck!
*Can someone tell me if I’m doing this right or wrong?*
Denise, that’s good feedback. We’re all here sharing a quick outpouring stimulated by the prompt and a 15 minute time frame. Of course we’re not aiming for perfection, but it is good to hear what works, what others notice and what could be drawn out or improved.
‘ gentle but honest’ is my motto.
Regards Dawn
Thanks, Dawn. Good to know and keep in mind.
This piece shows a lot of promise. I stumbled a bit with some of the syntax, but maybe you didn’t proofread before you posted. As a reader I keep getting lifted up with the promise of a revelation but then let down as we go into another set of comparisons. I would like a little more detail as to what has put the narrator in this situation/predicament/mood to keep me interested in reading further. Great start.
Setting the timer, 15 minutes; the sun, ok…I have always appreciated the sun. As a child I often looked up at the sun, holding onto a very thin thread of hope. Never mind the details. You can read someone else’s book, like Bastard Out Of Carolina, if you need details. My childhood was miserable. Every abuse that could be invented was done to me and my brothers. No matter how awful things were, I could look up and get encouragement. Until I was ten, we lived in a tenement in L.A. It was grungy and dangerous. We had to fight all the way to school and all the way home. It was a part of the city where everything literally was gray, black, or dingy brown. When I felt really overwhelmed (oh, like, daily) I would look up. It was L.A. The sun was shining, the sky was radiating one of many shades of blue (look, I’m really old, and smog was not so bad then, and let’s move on), and the clouds were puffy and white and happy. As long as I can remember, I could look up at the sun and the bright sky, and be reassured that, outside of my forlorn little life, the world was beautiful and perfect, and one day I would be there.
When I was ten, my maternal grandfather took pity on our desperate situation, and bought us a house. Granted, the house was in a particularly nasty suburb of L.A. This particular ‘burb was named the Rape Capital of the U.S. at one point in the ’70s. Hey, I’d just moved from a place dubbed “Fear Street” by the Los Angeles Star, so I’d actually moved up a few rungs on the socioeconomic ladder.
So our suburb was grimy and grim. However, the sun shone defiantly there, like I’d never imagined it could. Away from the city, in what really was an exurb, on the fringe of rural areas and wildlands, there was nothing to block the light. Our new (totally dilapidated) house had a decent size backyard, and in the center was a huge mulberry tree. Wow, no matter how bad your life is, if you can climb to the top of a big shady tree on a sunny (but otherwise shitty) day, life is getting nearly manageable.
Out here in the town my brothers and I called The Armpit, the sun did us all another huge favor. Historically, food had been scarce around our house. Inconsistent income, drug and alcohol addictions, and other self-destructive behaviors left our family in a perpetual state of undernourishment. (Strangely enough, the adults who ranked us children’s welfare as so low as to be totally off the radar, were “too proud” to apply for welfare? Well, probably they knew they’d end up in jail if anyone ever came around the check up on the application…) ANYWAY, the point is…
One day my mother decided we would plant a garden. I was eleven or twelve, and I didn’t even know what that was. So we dug up half the yard, and planted corn, tomatoes, lettuce, beans, peas, squashes, onions, cabbage, potatoes, and pumpkins. My mother did know how to cook (when she wasn’t laying in bed pretending to be sick). In Southern California, that sun showered that garden with all it needed, (oh and we watered it), and it produced like gangbusters 12 months a year. Thanks to the sun, for the remainder of my childhood, we had plenty of food! The bounty in summer was especially copious, and at mealtime, we would just forage in our garden until we were full.
Ok, 15 minutes over…Sorry for ranting about the past. I was picking some scabs (see Joe’s prior post about scars….)
Thank you for sharing your rambling. So sorry for your experiences, but the hopeful notes lightened the reading. Your voice is very easy to read and relatable. You covered a lot of ground in 15 minutes!
Thank you Denise! Yes I set the timer and took off. Glad to hear it is actually readable!
Just read all the comments. I seem to have stumbled into a very talented group. I really admired these off-the-cuff pieces. They are all well-written and richly evocative. To address Denise’s question, I do hope this can be a forum for sharing our work, encouraging each other, and offering helpful critique. I trust we all know how to do this agreeably. I can’t speak for the others, but Denise, and anyone else, I do welcome feedback and positive suggestions for improvement.
THE SUN, THE SUMMER, THE WARM WEATHER
Extreme temperatures have never been on my list of favorite things. Having lived in both Michigan and Rhode Island I know what very cold winters are like and also what hot humid summers are like. Hot humid summers were the worst for me! The heat always seemed to melt the life and energy out of me and often I would feel very sick to my stomach. Not being a swimmer and with no way to get there going to the beach was not an option. Then thirty years ago, January 1984 to be exact we moved lock, stock, and barrel to Arizona! Yes, it was a dry heat and I loved it. After more than twenty years of cold wet winters the warm January sun in Arizona was amazing. By March we were in the pool, after all the water was 64 degrees, warmer than the ocean in Rhode Island in the summer. As the days got hotter my bones seems to soak up the heat and sigh in relief as they gave up the ‘bone rattling cold’ of many winters past. We lived in the Phoenix area for ten years and even survived the hottest day on record …. June 26, 1990 the temperature recorded at Sky Harbor Airport was a balmy 122 degrees! Planes could not take off or land as their wheels were sinking into the melting tarmac! We also survived the longest stretch of continuous 100 degree days which numbered 76, and occurred from the 10th of June through the 24th of August in 1993. The heat in the Valley of the Sun never bothered me most of the time. I did have a job one summer that involved calling on clients and required being dressed professionally. That was not fun, as the calls were close together and the air conditioner in my Monte Carlo didn’t have time to cool off that vast interior or to stop the make-up from melting off my face! Yet, the weather seems to be changing. Although we no longer live in the Valley of the Sun we are still in Arizona, just about 100 miles north and up about 3,000 feet in altitude. We moved up here Halloween weekend of 1993 and I thought we would freeze to death that night! It was so cold, our blood thinned by that hot summer sun. Now the weather is hotter up here in the Verde Valley. We often reach well over 100 degrees in the summer time and it is no longer a dry heat. The humidity is higher and the heat seems much more intense. Global warming? Climate change? Weather cycles? Maybe a little bit of all three. However, even though these summer days are filled with the blazing sun and at times seem endless I know I would not like living in a cold climate ever again. We do see snow from time to time, yes even here in central Arizona. It comes, covers everything and looks beautiful, usually melting by noon. So all things considered, I will live with the heat. For although it can be miserable and make me feel like I am melting …. I always say to myself, “At least you don’t have to shovel heat’! Gail
Congratulations on successfully transplanting yourself. My father did the same some time back and when I visited, I was amazed at the diversity of Arizona. We were careful to visit during the late fall, Thanksgiving to be exact. I liked the details and how they never read, to me, like facts. You wove them nicely into the narrative. Thank you for sharing & enjoy your summer.
What a fun, entertaining personal memoir. I enjoyed reading your thoughts on heat and cold and your experiences with both. You have a great writing style that is very personable and easily readable. Thanks for sharing it with us.
Glistening teal waves rippled in through the bay, gently licking the craggy limestone heads. The ferocious mid-summer ball of fire had slid to the west blazing a golden trail through the sparse wisps of high clouds and softening its heat. Ocean beckoned, tickling my feet and washing foam about my ankles.
If had been a long day. The tarmac had began to peel in the car park. Traffic had bottle necked at all the freeway exits. Petrol fumes penetrated the suffocating air. I simply wanted to scrape it all away and submerge my whole body in to the soft silky sweetness of the sea.
Warm gentle waves strolled up to my belly and broke; effervescent slurps, slapping my shoulders. A school of small silver herring whisked through the curve and darted off into the deep. And I sunk my self beneath the sparkling teal skin, slowly savouring the silky cool water as it swirled about me.
Ripples shadowed across the sandy bottom, fluting into the tapestry of aquatic mystery. Looking up through the elastic skin sun danced upon the surface like layers of golden petticoat frills.
Bursting to the surface, in need of breath, my heart pounced through my chest and declared itself alive, and I smiled up to the bowl of hazy blue sky. A string of gulls just taking flight. Some excited children shouting on the beach. And me.
On my back I bobbed suspended by the rhythmic gentle swell. Clementine and salmon pink streaks began to decorate the horizon. The sun melting slowly began lowering in to the mouth of the inky horizon.
The city day washed itself away. My summer skin drunk in the soothing sea and the promise of a balmy twilight.
What a lovely way to end a tiring, hot summer day! Nicely drawn word pictures. Thanks for sharing.
The laziness of summer. The openness of my dreams. Everything seems possible watching the sunset over the water.
The three of us sat slouched and silent and in our own worlds. We were light years apart but shared the same small, dimly lit space. The curtains were drawn, our thin brown line of defense against the hostile summer day. The sun was out; we tried our best to keep it from getting in.
Kevin broke the silence: “Do either of you guys have a smoke I could bum?”
I reached for my pack on the litter-strewn coffee table and opened it. There was one left. I took it out, placed it between my lips and lit it. “No,” I said, with some effort, “But I’ll save you a drag.”
Kevin raised his lazy eyebrows in surprised disappointment and moved on. “Lester?”
Lester didn’t need to check his pack. “All out,” he replied, from the moon.
I eyed the furiously back-lit curtains warily and said, “We’re going to have to make a run.” I had been enjoying the cigarette immensely – I always did on a trip – but this realization had sucked all the joy out of it. I took one last nervous haul before I reached over and handed it to Kevin, who received it with silent satisfaction. I watched it go with some regret, wanting another one already. After anywhere from twenty seconds to five minutes I asked, “We gonna go?”
Kevin closed his black eyes, sighed and stood up. Shadows danced behind him. He handed the last of the still burning cigarette to Lester who shimmered with gratitude. For a moment they appeared connected by a neon umbilical cord.
I’m not sure why we all had black leather coats and it’s even more a mystery to me why we all wordlessly decided to don them on that hot sunny day. I guess maybe it felt like armour of some sort.
We gathered our courage and stepped out into the summer sun, grimacing with trepidation behind our sunglasses, and proceeded up the street. Three cool cats, sweating like pigs.
The sun fell on her like a soft white linen as she laid down on her back on the cool lush grass. A breeze of tulip and fresh mulch fluttered under her nose and she took a deep breath of relaxation. she wore a bright white and pale yellow floral pattern sun dress with her legs cross at her ankles with her feet bare, white converse kicked and forgotten. She brought a book to read but the weather was so perfect it was hard for her not to just be in the moment and take it in. She slowly closed her eyes.
She began to think about how this is what she was wanting for all winter. When her shoulders met her ears in shutter and the ice cold wind swept her long golden her in her face and left her raw. Her day bright dreams had finally come and she could breath softly and almost get a sense of floating in room temperature water. She thought it was funny that her dream weather is to not feel any weather and that in a way all she wanted was nothing. It put a slight smirk on her face.
She opened her eyes to the full flare of sun, sat up and let her eyes adjust. She remembered she had her small notebook and pen in her bag and sifted through her bag till she found it. It was deep at the bottom, it had been awhile since she was inspired to open it. The search continued for a pen but she only came up with a big flat tip black sharpie. She opened her pad and found a blank lined page and turned it horizontal and wrote across it “NOTHING IS SOMETHING” filling up the whole page and tossed the pad next to her.
Far on the horizon, over there where the earth touches the heaven.
I watch as she slowly rises from her
slumber. What a long night it has been. No moon and no stars. I watch squinting just so as dawn tickles
the sky with the tips of her fiery hair. Her bright presence weaves its magic as color
quickly turns from dark to lighter dark to hues of purple and orange.
The more she climbs up over the edge of the earth to reveal
her hot glowing self the more the darkness fades. I feel
her warm fingers touch my hair
and caress my cheeks. She promises me it
will be a scorching day. A day bathed in
her heat and light. A day to spend reveling
under her luminous smile.
Now sitting unveiled completely on the edge of the sky. Her brilliant gaze wakes the earth. She dances like a million diamond fairies across
the waters. Calling to me “come and
play, come and play with me.”
How poetic! this was a purely pleasant read. It flowed well, it was creative, and it gave a good visual of a summer morning. There were a few grammatical errors that interrupted the flow a bit, but in 15 minutes it can be hard to catch and revise. Other than that, very nicely done MCD’ Alton
Thank you. I clean forgot about this piece. Think I will work on it today.
Thank you Starlight11!
I forgot about this post. Now that you have reminded me of it, I think I will use today to work on it and clean it up a bit.
It seems kinda weird, for me anyways, to go and comment on stuff that is a year old. But I do enjoy critiquing and yours is a truly eloquent piece.I think it will really shine (pun not intended) once it is cleaned up.
Oh my dear! I wish you knew just how much you have brightened my Monday! Thank you! And where will I find some of your writing please?
You are incredibly welcome. Well, I have been posting on the past couple of the write practice exercises and I have posted on the one after this one. I am actually working on writing a story, but the going is slow.
The warms rays of yellow, late morning sunlight trickled through the leaves on the forest trees leaving patches of shadow on the ground below. Sprawling on the forest ground, I chanced a glance upward, making sure to keep an eye closed and to squint to block out the blinding sunlight. Above, there were birds flitting in every direction, gathering necessary materials and chirping joyfully. I couldn’t help but smile, Looking back at the ground, I studies the ants marching across the ground.
I took a deep breath. The smell of freshly rained on dirt permeated my nose. I felt a a strange mix of almost overheating warmth and almost cold cool. The sun was shining on my back, sending warmth pulsating throughout my body and the the cool dirt was pressed against my stomach and thighs, sending pleasant shiver down my spine.
I had spent a large portion of my morning relaxing there so I decided to stand. Upon standing, I noticed that a lot of dirt had decided to cling to me. I brushed off as much as I could, but I mostly succeeded in making my hands look as dirty as I was. Fortunately, I had decided to wear older, worn-out clothes. Feeling completely carefree, I wandered aimlessly until I came to a brook. Immediately I had to suppress the urge to jump in and splash around like a bird. Looking down at my already ruined clothes, I decided that it couldn’t possibly do anymore damage.