Your Daily Prompt #1

I stopped writing for a while.

When it was time to begin again I thought for a while.  Then thought some more.

I took a walk with a friend this past Saturday through UC Berkeley’s beautiful campus.  On our way to Telegraph Avenue we passed an over flowing trashcan.  Next to it, crumpled and discarded, was a denim jacket.  Someone had set fire to it, or it had caught fire, and then was abandoned.  No longer useful.

“That would make a good writing prompt.”

“What?”  The beauty of the day and a raging case of indigestion distracted my friend.

“That denim jacket.  It would make a good writing prompt.  I should take a photo of it.”

But I didn’t.

Instead, I’ll post this photo.  Your daily writing prompt.

Now feel free to pick up a pen and write.

A few ground rules:

  • Timed writing – 15 to 30 minutes
  • 200 to 500 words
  • If you want to share, post your work as a comment

Here are my 263 words from Your Daily Prompt #1:

She admired the pattern of raindrops on the linen envelope and looked for the return address.  There was none, and the postmark had blurred from the rain and was now a red smeared remnant from a former destination.  But there was something familiar in a long ago way about the handwriting.

The freezing rain made her fingers ache.  Clare dropped the letter on the breakfast table next to the half finished porridge and cold tea.  Whatever it is, it can wait.  Her first spoken words of the day woke Jack.  The black tabby stretched down from his kitchen chair and rubber his body against her ankle.

Clare lifted the plate from the Stanley, took up the coal bucket next to the stove and spilled shining black chunks into its belly.  She made a second cup of tea – two teaspoons of sugar and a drop of milk – then sat down by the window.

She looked through the raindrops past the McSweeny kid’s swing set, past the arch of identical white bungalows that carved the green hill.  She looked all the way to Barnesmore Gap, all the way to the Atlantic and across.  She looked to a rocky shore, then cities, mountains, people, mad dreams and fields of wheat.

Jack reached his paws to her lap.  Come on then, she said, and Jack was in her lap.  She picked up the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of ordinary paper, folded in quarters and on that folded piece of paper was taped a single Gingko leaf and the words “Remember me.”

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