Vignette
Timed writing challenge for worldofscribble
Challenge B: Write for seven minutes, including the words play and ataraxy in your piece.
We started out without a purpose that morning, strolling about the neighborhood, people watching, and not really going anywhere. Samantha was the one who found the hiking trails, accessed through a small gravel path in-between two non-descript houses.
"I don't really know that we're allowed back here," I objected uncertainly.
"Oh, come on," she urged, grabbing hold of my shirt and playfully tugging me forward, "don't be a weenie. You think this is all part of someone's back yard?"
As usual, she was proven right, as we quickly met other people walking along the trails, jogging, and exercising their dogs. We were never far from someone's back yard, although there were unexpected branchings, and a few side trails which lead to totally unexpected destinations. At one point, we arrived at a tall limestone wall, with the sound of rushing cars filtering through from the other side.
"Look at that," she exclaimed a while later, as we crossed a small wooden bridge over an almost dry streambed. "It's a tree house."
To my delight, I saw she was right, the little hide away complete with a railing around its outer edge, with rough hewn bits of board fastened to the trunk to serve as stairs.
We made a game of it, seeing who could reach the tree first, scramble skyward , and finally achieve the ultimate goal, safe refuge on a platform several feet above the ground.
Our relationship was only days away from disintegration, and yet, this adventure, time spent together in a children's playground, would end up being a moment of pure ataraxy.
Dan
Challenge B: Write for seven minutes, including the words play and ataraxy in your piece.
We started out without a purpose that morning, strolling about the neighborhood, people watching, and not really going anywhere. Samantha was the one who found the hiking trails, accessed through a small gravel path in-between two non-descript houses.
"I don't really know that we're allowed back here," I objected uncertainly.
"Oh, come on," she urged, grabbing hold of my shirt and playfully tugging me forward, "don't be a weenie. You think this is all part of someone's back yard?"
As usual, she was proven right, as we quickly met other people walking along the trails, jogging, and exercising their dogs. We were never far from someone's back yard, although there were unexpected branchings, and a few side trails which lead to totally unexpected destinations. At one point, we arrived at a tall limestone wall, with the sound of rushing cars filtering through from the other side.
"Look at that," she exclaimed a while later, as we crossed a small wooden bridge over an almost dry streambed. "It's a tree house."
To my delight, I saw she was right, the little hide away complete with a railing around its outer edge, with rough hewn bits of board fastened to the trunk to serve as stairs.
We made a game of it, seeing who could reach the tree first, scramble skyward , and finally achieve the ultimate goal, safe refuge on a platform several feet above the ground.
Our relationship was only days away from disintegration, and yet, this adventure, time spent together in a children's playground, would end up being a moment of pure ataraxy.
Dan