Prompts
Flowers for Ann
Whenever we passed by this spot, Ann was the only one who noticed the funny looking tree growing in a field of purple flowers. She would always tell me about how the one branch that outstretched towards the road looked like an arm and the large knot hole looked like a mouth.
“See? Can't you see that he's singing?”
I never really saw it before. But today I finally saw the open mouth. It's large barrel trunk formed the singing tree to be singing a long note. He was still in his long note to the world his outstretched hand was extended to. I gave a little smile and continued on down the path. The park path I had found myself on a journey through nostalgia turned into a stuffy forest path. I continued down the path seeing the stepping stones that crossed the creak that pushed through the winding trees.
Ann always used to ignore the small bridge that the path took and twirled around on the rocks next to it.
“Why would the forest leave such flat stones if they weren't meant to cross?”
Her long skirt twirled and danced around her as she skipped across the rocks to meet me at the other side and smile. Her bright blue eyes and pure white skin were speckled with the sunlight spilling through the leaves of the forest trees. The leaves were green and the temperature hot, but she was always dressed warmly. Long skirts, long sleeved shirts, and a hat hiding her entire head. Usually she wore a hat with a large puff ball on top that would dance along with her skirt when she twirled around on our usual walks.
I always carried the blanket she knitted and asked her every few minutes if she was alright or if she wanted to go home. Ann would only twirl around and place her small hands on her hips and pout.
“You worry too much.”
She would look angry for a few moments but then smile a little smile and continue on by my side down the path through the woods. Even as her white skin grew whiter, and her dancing grew slower, we still walked the same path every day. She would always talk about something that happened to her that day, or how Butter, her silly little finch enjoys to startle me whenever I come into her room. I would roll my eyes as she giggles at her funny stories. I was there for all of them, but she needed to remind me of them.
As I walked on down the path and crossed to another the warm air and the nostalgia started to grow cold. I walked past many stones placed carefully on the freshly cut grass. The birds didn't sing, and the wind didn't bow through the trees. It was quiet as my steps grew slower and stopped in front of a rock that seemed brighter than the others.
“Hello, Ann,” my voice sounded loud in the silence, “I brought you your favorite flowers today.”
“See? Can't you see that he's singing?”
I never really saw it before. But today I finally saw the open mouth. It's large barrel trunk formed the singing tree to be singing a long note. He was still in his long note to the world his outstretched hand was extended to. I gave a little smile and continued on down the path. The park path I had found myself on a journey through nostalgia turned into a stuffy forest path. I continued down the path seeing the stepping stones that crossed the creak that pushed through the winding trees.
Ann always used to ignore the small bridge that the path took and twirled around on the rocks next to it.
“Why would the forest leave such flat stones if they weren't meant to cross?”
Her long skirt twirled and danced around her as she skipped across the rocks to meet me at the other side and smile. Her bright blue eyes and pure white skin were speckled with the sunlight spilling through the leaves of the forest trees. The leaves were green and the temperature hot, but she was always dressed warmly. Long skirts, long sleeved shirts, and a hat hiding her entire head. Usually she wore a hat with a large puff ball on top that would dance along with her skirt when she twirled around on our usual walks.
I always carried the blanket she knitted and asked her every few minutes if she was alright or if she wanted to go home. Ann would only twirl around and place her small hands on her hips and pout.
“You worry too much.”
She would look angry for a few moments but then smile a little smile and continue on by my side down the path through the woods. Even as her white skin grew whiter, and her dancing grew slower, we still walked the same path every day. She would always talk about something that happened to her that day, or how Butter, her silly little finch enjoys to startle me whenever I come into her room. I would roll my eyes as she giggles at her funny stories. I was there for all of them, but she needed to remind me of them.
As I walked on down the path and crossed to another the warm air and the nostalgia started to grow cold. I walked past many stones placed carefully on the freshly cut grass. The birds didn't sing, and the wind didn't bow through the trees. It was quiet as my steps grew slower and stopped in front of a rock that seemed brighter than the others.
“Hello, Ann,” my voice sounded loud in the silence, “I brought you your favorite flowers today.”
♠ ♠ ♠
http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/4n6Eip/:1vysKvsNz:GDc32zLL/www.davidrm.com/thejournal/tjresources-exercises.php/ is the source of this fun promptI couldn't think of anything to write for like five minutes, so I extended my time a little bit after the timer went off but I like how it turned out. :)