Free Write Rain

 

 

Today's Free Write was more difficult not for the writing but for deciding on the prompt. Two of us are still in France and one of us is in Switzerland. It was a rainy, raw day. If we are to believe the forecast for the rest of the month, March will go out like a lion after quite a few days of being a lamb. 

With transmission confusion of info on the prompt, our fault with transmission of one a village photo and then when it started to rain we changed it to rain and sent that to Julia.

This is the first time we've used a video.

D-L's Free Write

Today was the picnic. Sally had made the potato salad last night as her contribution. She'd been looking forward to today for weeks.

Waking, she had heard the sound of rain on the roof. 

It had been months since it had rained. There were water alerts. No watering flower gardens or lawns. Vegetables were okay. The golf course fairways were yellow, but the greens were still green because of an exemption.

Sally and her friends were to meet at the lake, which because of the drought was more like a pond.

It wasn't fair. California, Brazil and other places were flooded.

Sally wished the rain had waited just one more day.

Her phone rang. Peter said they would have to cancel.

"No," Sally said. "We'll call everyone and have them picnic here. I'll put blankets on the floor.

"We can sprinkle dirt to make it seem more real," Peter said.

"Let's not go that far," Sally said.

There were water alerts.

Rick's Free Write

It had been a long time since the villagers had seen rain. Too long. Much too long.

So they didn’t mind the steady drizzle and inconvenience of puddles on the pavement.

Merchants rolled out the awnings to cover the café tables and fruit stand. Those who needed to do errands popped dusty umbrellas for the first time in months. Children on the way to school turned their faces to the sky and stuck out their tongues to catch a drop or two. Dogs shook, walked a few feet, and shook again. The parched plants lining the pedestrian street sighed with relief.

It wouldn’t last much longer. It had rained through the night, hard at times on the tile roofs. But it wouldn’t be enough even to start a steady trickle in the dry riverbed. It would be insufficient to replenish the reservoirs. The drought had been going on intermittently for several years. The summers had been getting warmer. The farm fields shrinking. Prices rising.

Steadily, those who could were migrating north – to central Europe with its mountains, even to the Scandinavian countries, the new Riviera.

Man cannot survive without water.

 

 Julia's Free Write. Observing people.

An ordinary morning in the pedestrian zone of the small town in Southern France where I had come to “get away from it all”.

As I sat there with my warm croissant and coffee, I gave myself up to the pleasure of watching the to-ing and fro-ing of people: a couple had obviously run into an old friend – Madame was all smiles (an old flame perhaps?). The greengrocer on the corner was extolling the virtues of her hand-grown veggies to a somewhat reticent customer. Others, farther away, were walking away – many with sacks of all shades and combinations, full of their recent purchases.

No one noticed me, except one chap standing still and scowling.

Really, did he think that I was a spy? Do I look that out of place? OK, maybe he has ESP as, yes, I had been sent to observe and report any suspicious persons by my bosses – the local tax authorities. After all, someone buying too much or too expensively might be cheating on their taxes!

D-L's Free Write

The smell of baking bread is the first thing to notice in the early morning of Pete’s French village. He loves to go out and get the breakfast baguette usually before anyone else is up. In summer when the tourist swarm the village there always seems to be long lines at the boulangerie no matter how early.

Later in the morning there will be the smell of roasting chicken in the machines outside the butcher shops.

Pete looks at the grey sky. He hopes he can get home before the rain starts. Just in case he slips the baguette under his jacket. The day is unusually raw.

He’s a little later than usually this morning, with more people on the street.

Henri is coming his way and wants to chat about the chance of much needed rain.

The café is open and two women, friends of his wife, wave him over and invite him to sit.

He thanks them, saying he needs to get home.

It is now nine fourteen and the greengrocer, clothing store, shoe shop and fancy-dancy art store are moving some of their wares onto the street. Albert looks at the sky and moves his table back in before putting any of the ceramics out.

A few sprinkles hit Pete's bald head. He walks faster, but not fast enough to miss the downpour.

Inside his home he takes off his soaked jacket.

Fortunately, the inner lining protected the bread. His wife comes out and takes it. “Coffee?”

Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

Rick is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices. com

 

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at: https://dlnelsonwriter.com