Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Make It Up Monday #6: 52 Weeks of Wordage
Missy felt another sharp jab from Mama's finger in her ribs. "Wake up! We're about to have a photograph taken of our stagecoach journey, and you were about to sleep through it!" Missy reluctantly opened her eyes, looked at the camera, and smiled. She wondered if falsehoods could be detected on film. She was miserable. Mama and Papa kept telling her how lucky she was to be able to go on this trip to visit those springs out west, but all she could think about was how Cousin Jeremiah's head kept lolling over onto her shoulder when he fell asleep and how Mama glared at her as if she had invited this intrusion! And how her boots were too tight on her feet! And how the stagecoach kept rocking, rocking, rocking and her stomach felt like a pot about to boil over. On top of it all, Missy was plain bored. She was, by nature, an active and curious girl, and sitting for extended periods in close quarters made her irritable. She closed her eyes again and began to imagine an Indian attack or, even better, a stagecoach robbery! That's what this journey needed, Missy thought. Too bad those were only stories...