Free Write Village House

 

 

We settled onto our favorite cafe terrace for our Tuesday Free Write. The dog positioned himself near the cafè's cat door in hope Melissa would emerge. She didn't.

It was autumn cool and we were early. Two couples were eating their breakfast from the hotel. 

Rick ordered hot chocolate: I went for Yorkshire tea. The two tiny muffins were perched on the saucer.-- but not for long.

Because no "victim" to our pen walked through the plaza, Rick suggested a house we long admired. Here's what we came up with after 10 minutes of non stop writing. Either piece could be incorporated into a longer piece.

D-L's Free Write

It was the only house on the Place de Republique that had plants, lots of plants.

The shutters and doors were the blue so typical of a French Mediterranean village.

Most of the houses on the Place had been painted, an improvement from the grays of the past.

The woman, who had bought the place, had a cat, a fluff ball of white with a little ginger, reminding her of the creamsickles of her youth.

In the early morning, the Place was quiet, the few hotel guests across from the house ate their petit dej. 

Later in the day, there would be foot traffic. Tourists might comment on her garden.

Sometimes the Place was full of people dancing or listening to a concert. Music from the music school could be heard if she left the windows open.

Only last week, she'd read the plaque on the music school paying tribute to the women who demonstrated there against the Nazis in WWII,,

Twice a week, her house was hidden by veggie stands the merchants set up for the marché.

She was happy she had bought the house so different from her Paris flat, despite the disapproval of parents, friends and her ex.

They were wrong.

The house was right for her, especially the blue shutters.

Rick's Free Write

There are 19 plants in baskets, three of them hanging in the blue-shuttered, four-story house facing what used to be the Mairie Place of the village. And one white fluffy ccat with wispy orange highlights.

It's the perfect location. South-facing for the morning sun. Close enough to the church to hear the bells. Far enough to not be overwhelmed by the fireworks from the tower.

Right across the street from were the two cafés where people gathered morning and evening, one for French locals, one for the Anglo-speaking tourist. And best of all, within earshot of the windows of the music school, the former mairie, where the teaches demonstrated beautiful melodies and young student struggled to emulate.

On Saturday nights in summer and on occasions  of religious festivals, which are numerous, Evangelique can sit near the open shutters on her deuxième étage balcony and listen to the music, watch the dancesr, remember her younger days. Now she had only enough energy to water her plants and stroke the cat.