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Tiptoe into the dawn of time, and dance with the rhythm of stars. Take delight in each new birth, and dream of the coming day. Dance into the golden haze where the drum is beating strong. Whirl to the wild beat of the heart, dance in a dream of life.
Slowly dance in the mellow light, delight in the russet tones. Gather the memories close to your heart, and dream of the coming night. Content at last to pause in the dance, delight in the chance to rest. Gather the darkness close to you and dream of the coming dawn.
I won't post more prompts just yet, someone else might still be working on these. Be good to get a few more responses.
They bought balloons and made signs, these women with greying hair pulled tightly into buns. In the autumn of life, they want to rid themselves of all the accumulated knick knacks that only catch the dust, mementos not needed to inspire memories of the past. The past is alive and well in their minds, and these women crave now for comfortable simplicity. In their twilight years they want to shed the clutter of a life time.
Today, the once treasured miscellany is outside on tables, and balloons and signs are drawing curious people in.
He went to his shed this morning
after we'd had a row.
All day he's been shut up in there,
all day, and it's twilight now.
I'm not allowed in his shed,
he says it's his private domain.
If I disturbed his clutter of man things
I'd be in trouble again.
He's collected it all so quickly,
we've been married for only a year.
We've never before had a row,
and our marriage is over, I fear.
I've made him some buns and some coffee.
He'll be hungry and all will be well.
Will I go to the door and call softly?
Or let him stew all the way to hell?
He was late. She gazed out the window, barely exercising restraint. The last chapters of her book were ready to print, and she wanted it done and the manuscript packed ready to post. He should have collected her printer from the repair shop at 4 o’clock, and now night had fallen.
When the telephone rang she grabbed it immediately.
He was sorry, the car was a bit of a mess, but the printer was okay.
“What? Where are you? Are you okay?” But the line was dead.
She replaced the receiver, glad that at least he had phoned. Almost immediately there was a knock at the door. The police were sorry to inform her that there had been an accident. Her husband was dead.
“No, he just phoned me, it would be someone else that died. I know there was an accident. We were cut off before he had time to mention other people.”
They handed her his wallet and keys, and put the printer on the table. There had been no one else involved.
After the police left, she gazed again out the window. The garden was lit by the globe of the full moon - a ghostly light, but comforting too.
Posted: Wed Sep 05, 2007 7:51 am Post subject: Re: Try these ...
You are a real pain,
a spoil-sport.
You won't let me do anything without nag, nag, nagging.
Don't put off to tomorrow what you can do today.
Don't do this, you should be doing that.
Everywhere I go
you have to track along,
nagging all the time
Don't spend so much time on the phone.
Get out and exercise.
Change the burned out globe in the hallway.
Put the new ink cartridge in the printer.
Why do I have to put up with you?
Where did you come from anyway?
I never asked for you.
I never wanted to have
a conscience.
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