Did ya have to pick one of my aforementioned weakness as a starting assignment? I have
said that using the senses is a tough one for me!
This was work.
Oh, feedback. So, since I've reiterated that this is tough, be brutal! I want to know HOW the heck to get more in. Really. I feel like I'm jsut wasting everyone's time when I'm writing about the sky, and the clouds and
Then I read a well-writtend book and sure enough, it's full of the stuff. So tell me, what COULD I have done? What would you do differently?
I long for a big steamy mug of Constant Comment Tea, with just a touch of sugar. Inhaling deeply, I imagine the hot orange and spice steam filling my nostrils.
My ears ache. Thirty-two years ago as a teen I went out for a walk during a blizzard. It was the 1970's, and I wasn't flattening my shag hairdo with a hat. Instead, I let Jack Frost have his way with my ears and he left permanent bites. Today, I wear a fleece roller, pulled low, and still my ears burn with frostbite.
The dirt road is now a layer of ice covered with a slop of cinnamon-and-sugar colored slush. With every step I slide a bit before the special grippers I wear over my shoes bite inot the layer of ice.
The afternoons bit of sun and warmth has melted some of the cinnamon and sugar into a series of mud puddles, strung out along a rut made by many tires. I hop over these, from high spot to high spot, only the center of the road firm. In the distance I hear the whine and pitch of a fast-moving pick-up truck and I skip over the tinys hills and valleys back to the muddy safety of the roadside.
The beaten cherry-red pick up speeds over the ruts; mud sprays from under the tires. The mangy dog in the passenger seat eyes me speculatively.
The truck slows slightly. I motion with my hands, watching the spray from the wheels, for the driver to slow further; but he's busy with his own warm thoughts of home and goes by too fast.
Hot chocolate colored mud splatters my long, midnight black coat. "Men!" I mutter, as I dab and brush.
Two miles from home I turn and head back. Our few neighbors are coming home. Their chimneys bellow thick black smoke that rises to join the grey-blue cottony clouds hanging just above. I scrunching my shoulders down into my coat and pull my scarf tighter. As the wind reddens my cheeks, I head for home and a mug of hot spiced tea.