There was no possibility of taking a walk that day

This is a twenty minute writing exercise, I just wanted to create atmosphere, rather than concentrate on a whole story, hope you like it.

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day, the rain hammered against the windows, and the wind wailed down the chimney, causing the fire to splutter. Although it was only two o’clock, the room was lit by the glow of the standard lamp, sending out reflective pools in the soft brown leather of the arm chairs. The weather outside seemed to emphasise the cosiness of the room, the cooling cups of tea, the plate of biscuits the rounded generosity of the teapot with its woolly coat.

 

She sat, legs hooked over the arm of the chair, soft silk cushion at her back, the tea within arms reach, munching a biscuit as she read the book. Softly, somewhere in the distance a clock struck the quarter hour,  and when the chime finally died it continued its soft ticking, a reassuring sound. It was nice for once, not to have to march to time, not to have to do something.

 

She turned the page, and the sound seemed loud in the room, as if the sudden movement had disturbed the tranquillity, the biscuit now gone, she twiddled with her hair, and at that moment she was totally at her ease, the  long golden hair swept past the side of the chair and nearly reached the floor. Her pose emphasised the length of her legs, the curve of her back implied the relaxation of the moment. He wanted to take a picture then, to capture her as she was, not posed with a cheesy smile, like everyone does when you point a camera near them. No, it wasn’t just the pose, it was the moment, he wanted to capture it, forever.

 

 The weather outside seemed to isolate them into a world where there was just the two of them, no children, no parents, no clients and no demands. He couldn’t remember the last time  he had just sat like this, taken the time to just sit and watch, and, like the last time it had happened, he asked himself why he did not do it more often.

 

 

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day « Spicy News

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day « Spicy News

 

I remember – writing exercise

I remember the farm was along the end of a country road, quiet enough for us to all ride our bikes without me fearing the children would die under a car’s wheels. It would give us a tremendous sense of freedom, only steps away from our village and we would be in the country; with just birdsong and the click of wheels; catching the sweet scent of strawberries and straw carried by the breeze across the fields.

We would reach the farm, fresh faced, as the lane was a steady climb, park our bikes near the rickety fence and feed the mallard ducks in the pond our hard dry bread. We would laugh as they bobbed about with their bottoms in the air as they fished out the weed from the lake bed. When the bread had been eaten, and the last disappointed duck waddled away we would slowly walk our bikes up the gravel path passing the smithy on our way. We could never walk past without leaning in on the stable door, peering at the arrangement of metal, forge and tools, the cobwebs gently floating in the breeze brought to mind ghosts from the past.

The barn was an impressive entrance to the farm, we locked our bikes under the huge oak tree, and made our way through the entrance to be greeted by the odd hen or two, scratching in the dust at some unknown worm or other. The Farm museum was just like time had stood still, the whitewashed farmhouse was separated from us by the yard filled with cows, pigs and sheep. It seemed to reflect an earlier age, a gentler age when people kept chickens and had fresh eggs each day. This would be a small holder’s delight, and my dream.