Cheese

Standing at the picket fence, the cameraman said cheese; to this, I wondered what kind it could be. I held my doll close to my side and ran my other hand along the wood. The leafless branches hung down like abstract cobwebs, flitting with the breeze. I stepped back to my house, leaving soft prints in the dirt.

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5 comments so far

  1. floreta on

    i wonder what the news was all about.

  2. Old Grizz on

    thoughts awaken and ponder the words. you always make me think. that’s good.

  3. b on

    I love these…I almost want to add a paragraph…just 50 words would do it I think. 🙂

    b

    http://torristravels.blogspot.com/2009/09/sunday-scribblingsthe-phone-call.html

  4. cricket51 on

    hmmmm. . .

  5. C.F. on

    Gives me an image of a child living in the moment.


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