An exercise in my afternoon.
As he stepped out his front door, he reflected on how great the week had been. Seeing good friends after what seemed like an eternity, but was really just a couple of weeks. Going to the movies, seeing a double feature, after months away. The national tour of Rock of Ages, and the subsequent beer and karaoke with the usual crowd (though again, it had been weeks since they'd all joined together for handcrafted porters and song). The long but spacious day at work followed by another show and, more importantly, taco night. And finally Friday, the half day to make up for the extra time. Lunch with a good friend, and a decision to actually do something constructive with the day. As he walked the handful of blocks to the park he considered each day, each relationship, how the past five days have really been a microcosm of this chapter in his life. It wasn't until he reached the hill that he focused on the task at hand. He awkwardly shifted the book and Coke in his hands and surveyed the greenery in front of him, looking for it. The perfect tree. Moments later he ascended the hill, approaching the arboreal giant he would claim as his own.
As he sat next to the tree, he noticed how the crook between the trunk and roots was perfect for his body to curl into: spacious enough for his (admittedly) large body, yet still offering a sense of security. Just like Goldilocks, he found it to be just right. He opened the book for the second time, enjoying the slight cracking sound of the new binding, and flipped through the introductory pages. In them he saw a card, addressed to him from the author. Just a quick thank you for support of the project. He smiled, touched, even though he realized he was one of hundreds, and flipped on.
... and here I've lost motivation. Ugh. I could never be a writer. Though I did just have a great little read in the park. A new novel, which really seems to speak to my generation. I'm curious to see more.
As he sat next to the tree, he noticed how the crook between the trunk and roots was perfect for his body to curl into: spacious enough for his (admittedly) large body, yet still offering a sense of security. Just like Goldilocks, he found it to be just right. He opened the book for the second time, enjoying the slight cracking sound of the new binding, and flipped through the introductory pages. In them he saw a card, addressed to him from the author. Just a quick thank you for support of the project. He smiled, touched, even though he realized he was one of hundreds, and flipped on.
... and here I've lost motivation. Ugh. I could never be a writer. Though I did just have a great little read in the park. A new novel, which really seems to speak to my generation. I'm curious to see more.