If you haven’t read the blog before this, do so now.
This is the next free writing exercise. I was to put my adult self into the “natural” scene I had remembered from my childhood. So, again, this has no editing. This is what comes out of my mind when I just keep writing for twenty minutes. Oh, and it’s also not historically accurat.
A Day at the Farm (part two)…
I stand on the hill, my hair tickling round my face as the breeze blows across the hill top. I am wearing a black velvet dress, the only black dress I own. I feel odd, standing here in mourning clothes; here in this place of so much childhood happiness.
I think of Grandma’s pies and Grandpa’s folded paper towel that he always had beside his plate to wipe his eyes. I think of the farmhouse, empty and barren and I think of the twin graves beside the old garden bed.
My mouth curls down as I think of Christmases past when we all opened presents beside the hot wood stove. I remember the rattle of the upstairs’ door. I remember the smell of the farm, a smell I will never forget. Tears begin to run down my cheeks. I am going to miss Grandpa and Grandma.
My tears taste salty. I take a deep breath and smell cows. The sun beats down on me in my black dress. My hair begins to stick to my face and I can feel sweat trickling down my back and between my breasts.
I kneel down and pick up a couple of rocks. I turn them over in my hands, brushing dirt from them. I discard most of them but keep one. It is a flat gray stone with a dark blue stripe across the center. The blue is the color of a summer day’s sky, straight up where the blue is darkest.
I feel a loneliness in my heart. My parents leaned on each other today. Angie and Neil leaned on each other. My brothers seem to young to be much upset and/or they have each other. I have no one. I don’t miss Isaac much but sometimes, like today, I miss the office he filled.
I sigh and start down the hill carefully as high heeled sandals aren’t the best footwear for scampering over the hills like a ten year old.
I step over the broken down fence, still managing to snag my pantyhose on a barb. I wince, feeling the scrape more than I would have when I was ten.
I feel old for a moment. I wish I could go back to the carefree summer days of childhood instead of the unseasonably warm fall afternoon I had today.
A day playing, eating pie or a day of funerals, burials, and quiet, ghost filled houses.
I hurry down the hill to the waiting family. Waiting to leave this place of memories forever.