Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

July 24, 2019, 03:34:52 AM
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This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
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Author Topic: Flock  (Read 201 times)
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« on: August 23, 2018, 06:35:04 AM »

They fall slowly, musically, into the fields on the other side of the windows. Our teacher keeps on talking about vectors and movement, but his voice ends like a backing soundtrack of the beautiful melody of the quiet, soothing falling of the snow. Until the music ends and we hear him complaining: "Have you never seen the snow, city boys?". And we laugh carelessly, amused by the coralline patterns drawn in the grey air, eager to rush out and play as if we were kids. We, in a sense, were kids, just in our sophomore year in college. The air seems to stand still, as if it has stretched and opened invisible pipes to let those white jingling flocks, to drive them to the green and brown ground. Smoke punctuate our words and our breathes as we walk fast, trying to hide our more than obvious enthusiasm for getting our hands into the white, and then winter seems like a cool turnaround summer, a beach made of white sand and a white see and frozen waves that flood our daily environment and our daily boredom. I feel amazed about the melting touch, the softness of the flocks as they hit me and disappear, like sweet kisses from ghosts.
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