grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

My Reflection

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my reflection

Yesterday he flashed a bright smile and rushed out into the world smelling faintly of pancake syrup. I saw my reflection as he walked away.

Today he’ll pull into the drive with stories of fall semester and bags of dirty laundry. I wait for his smile, his strong hug.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

Musical Pairing:

Landslide, Stevie Nicks


This was written for Write Tribe Wednesday Prompt: The Boy (Photograph).

smell of old books

By


smell of old books
morguefile


Stacked in the far corner—dusty,
musty and ignored—an
entire world awaits at only fifty cents each.
Leave me while I
linger
over brittle, yellowed pages filled with
fanciful words, forgotten fonts. 
Outdated tales
languish, longing to be rediscovered beneath 
durable covers
bound by history. Yes, I’m
obsessed. Whose fingers touched these pages? I inhale the
odor of linseed and ink and paper and coffee. A
keyhole to yesterday. The
smell of time.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

“It is a good rule after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between.” 
― C.S. Lewis

This post was written especially for Write Tribe prompt: smell of old books…

Living Outside Herself

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Each afternoon they chatted beside the warm fire. 
He shared memories of his life as a young man, nearly century old memories.
She listened and sensed the man he once was when his life was full and productive.
Did you always want to be a traveling salesman?
No. I took whatever job came along after the war. I had to think of my wife and young kids. Did you always want to be a banker?
I never wanted to be a banker. I took whatever job came along after college.
Winter melted.  
Soon he would leave.
  
As they sat together on the porch swing, he thought of yesterday. 
She thought of something more. 
She dared to imagine a different life. 
Have you decided what you want to do when you grow up, he asked with a chuckle. 
Write. I’ve always wanted to write. But change is scary, unfamiliar. She glanced to the trees searching for answers.

He nodded in agreement. When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous. 
***

talya
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
This post was written for Write Tribe – Hemingway prompt (weave a story or poem around a Hemingway quote…)   “When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous.” – Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden

Food. Farm. Garden. Life.

THANKS FOR READING!