The Waiting of Solvejg, Thomas Heath Robinson. 12154, November Novel. I can hear it blustering about outside, huffing and puffing, making the palm fronds spastic, skinny trunks bending cautiously, scandalizing the trees, tumbling through their leaves in lascivious exploration, exposing dull undersides to sharp-edged sunshine, scrubbing the clouds thin, kicking about rambunctious. I took a walk through the neighborhood this morning, went down to the beach, and watched the wind chase sand spiraling along the ped walk. It proved too much for me and chased me home with my empty coffee mug.

I hope to get a thousand words written today. Still have not thought of a title.


2 thoughts on “wind

  1. Forget the title – if you don’t have one now, it’ll come at the end and be SO much clearer by then what it should be.

    If it doesn’t you can shoot me 🙂

  2. I love it when you get all poetical like that. It inspires me to keep searching for an evocative phrase, an expression that resonates, rather than surrendering to utilitarian prose, which is my usual way. If I add just one adjective after reading your blog, I’m better for it. (I have the reverse problem of many other aspiring writers — rather than needing to remove excessive description, I could stand to add some!)

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