D-L's Free Write
Brenda, whenever she walked Fido through the farm fields, wondered who had put the bench she passed in the middle of nowhere.
It was obviously homemade with uneven planks and unmatched woods.
Today, a man, probably in his early 40s, sat on the bench. He tipped the straw hat he was wearing. Who did that nowadays?
His "good morning" was followed by a question about Fido's breed.
"Who knows,"she said, he just showed up at my house one day. I couldn't find his owner, so I kept him."
She glanced at her watch. They had talked for almost an hour and she needed to go home to shower and log on for work.
Overall, she liked working from home, but Fido was a lousy conversationalist. She missed the buzz of the office -- sometimes.
Excusing herself she walked by cornfields. The stalks had grown taller than she was, since she'd been there last week.
Brenda hadn't asked the man's name, nor had he asked hers.
If this were chick lit or a Hallmark movie it would have been the beginning of a romance -- only it wasn't. As many times as she would walk by the bench again, she never saw him again.
Julia's Free Write
Snuggled in its’ shelter – a thick and beautiful hedge – there it sat, just waiting.
For what? For Whom?
It couldn’t have been easy to find, tucked away as it was, so why was it there?
For small children to find?
For an old man or woman to rest?
For teenagers to neck?
For young parents to “get away from it all”?
How many rear ends, backs, heads and feet had it supported?
Were any famous – after all it wasn’t far from where Shelley’s Frankenstein was born.
Had there been homeless or immigrants resting for awhile?
I enjoyed my few minutes of solitude whilst all this ran through my mind.
Nothing but questions: questions the answers for which were jealously guarded, by the BENCH.
Rick's Free Write
It was in the middle of nowhere, down a dirt road alongside the farm fields at the top of the rise overlooking the lake. No one seems to know who put it there. The village? The farmer? No matter. Weary hikers and walkers were grateful to find it and sit a spell. The wooden slats, some of them at least, were getting weaker from the constant changes in weather – sun, rain, hail, snow, wind… need to be careful to check before you sit, lest one crack.
The view was away from the lake, toward the mountains. A view you could linger on for awhile before moving on.
When we would take our turn on the bench, sometimes the dog would join us, though he usually clearly wanted to keep walking. He would jump down, signaling it was time to continue exploring the smells of the bushes along the road. We would hoist ourselves off the slats and trudge on after him.
That was then. Good memories. Maybe we should get another dog before the next walk.
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
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