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Walking... Just walking to work.

I took a waterproof and made my way over the style and up the north field.
It was bright and the wind was strong from the south east and it pushed me as I went along. The half-grown pines in the top field were attracting a flock of Crows, who screemed and squobbled in the top branches as I made my way down to the lake.
Malchem had a boat there for visiters who wanted to fish. He had a way of being there to push them off and take a tip and look the part.
He saw me and walked the other way.

This year's Signets were almost fully fledged and had all there full feathers - only one still had a few grey streky bits. They were in the reeds, worrying a pair of Canada Geese who'd just arived.

I stopped at the boat house; swept it out, collected the crisp and the biscuit packets, picked the chewing gum off the floor, lit the Calor gas stove and sat down at my desk to get warm. To try and get warm

I'd had this idea at breakfast.
It was something Kath had said to Mrs Jones as she brought in the tea pot, and it had stuck.
It was nothing really - the kind of every day thing women say to each other. 'That needed cleaning next' or 'This colour looks nice on you.' but it had worked like a starting pistol in my brain - and I was working.
Scribble, scribble half an hour, not really getting near the root - but I could tell it was comming.

'The first 500 words will be crap' my father used to say, 'And then the spark will ignight, never fear, and you'll be away!'
God knows how many times he has been proved right!
And so I continue, scribble, scribble...

Posted by Triforium on 2007-10-31 13:45:44 | Rating: