It’s always surprising, in the fall, that Russian Thistle detaches from its root and dashes across open fields, a peloton of tumbleweeds racing toward a fence line or a farmhouse, where it will make a stand against the wind.
What struck her now, as she stumbled through the chores of the day, straightening coffeetable magazines and scrubbing last night´s burnt lasagna off a pan, was how little she had appreciated the little things that really mattered in a marriage, the quick goodbye kisses and that rough hand that used to search for her palm under the covers.
Decided to tackle the assignment today and only got so far as the midbranching thing -- and maybe the imprecision -- but I felt inspired just the same. Thanks!
The anatomy of a sentence. Some serious dissection (and desprouting) at work here. Reminds me of some of John Gardener’s exercises at the end of his books (though was always too impatient and foolishly dismissive to do them).
I used to play God with potato sprouts in stacks of dirt-filled tires. Never wrote great sentences about them though
What fun! I look forward to these examinations each week. While I don’t partake in the exercises here, the insights linger as I continue to write through my memoir. So thank you.🙏
It's a reoccurring argument, every year, which day our anniversary falls on: the actual moment of astronomical spring, or March 22nd proper, the date we actually walked down the aisle--but in our case, huddled in the crowded hallway at the barn where our wedding was to be held outdoors, staring through the glass at the swirling white finger of winter jabbing spring’s bare arm just once more.
It’s always surprising, in the fall, that Russian Thistle detaches from its root and dashes across open fields, a peloton of tumbleweeds racing toward a fence line or a farmhouse, where it will make a stand against the wind.
What struck her now, as she stumbled through the chores of the day, straightening coffeetable magazines and scrubbing last night´s burnt lasagna off a pan, was how little she had appreciated the little things that really mattered in a marriage, the quick goodbye kisses and that rough hand that used to search for her palm under the covers.
Decided to tackle the assignment today and only got so far as the midbranching thing -- and maybe the imprecision -- but I felt inspired just the same. Thanks!
The anatomy of a sentence. Some serious dissection (and desprouting) at work here. Reminds me of some of John Gardener’s exercises at the end of his books (though was always too impatient and foolishly dismissive to do them).
I used to play God with potato sprouts in stacks of dirt-filled tires. Never wrote great sentences about them though
What fun! I look forward to these examinations each week. While I don’t partake in the exercises here, the insights linger as I continue to write through my memoir. So thank you.🙏
It's a reoccurring argument, every year, which day our anniversary falls on: the actual moment of astronomical spring, or March 22nd proper, the date we actually walked down the aisle--but in our case, huddled in the crowded hallway at the barn where our wedding was to be held outdoors, staring through the glass at the swirling white finger of winter jabbing spring’s bare arm just once more.