Today's prompt from Rick was a tiny statue of a little boy and a man. The three participating writers are in two countries, France and Switzerland, but each regarded the prompt and spent 10 minutes writing. Next Tuesday it will be Julia's turn to send a prompt.

Rick's Free Write Man and Child 

They had been constant companions in the boy’s formative years – trips to parks, playing soccer in the huge backyard, chomping ice cream cones in summer and feeding the animals at the zoo. 

Best buds. 

He missed Garrett’s infectious laugh. They rarely talked these days, and only then on Zoom when the lad happened to be visiting his parents. He was in university now, more than halfway through his degree, and before long he’d be out in the business world. With his multiple talents and charming personality, he could end up anywhere. 

They had moved away when he was 10 and the old man 60 – to another state halfway across the country. Without the means to travel, visits were rare, twice in a decade. They’d become almost strangers. The old man sat in his apartment, the dog by his side in the recliner, and continued to whittle the wood, a skill he had acquired in a free class at the community center. 

“That’s quite good on the body forms,” said the young instructor. “But why no faces?” “Because… because… I’ve forgotten what he looked like.” 

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

D-L's Free Write -- Later 

Sebastian slammed the wet clay onto the board to remove any bubbles. 

He didn't usually do statues. The bowls, vases, plates he made were on the shelves awaiting shipment to exclusive shops in Boston, Washing, D.C., New York. 

He made the father first, using a knife to make it look like it was a wood carving. 

Maggie appeared at the door of his studio. "You need to go to bed." Her skin was blotched, her eyes red. She wore mismatched PJs.

"Later." As he shaped and reshaped the boy he heard conversations in his head. "Play with me, Papa." 

 "Later." 

"Read to me, Papa." 

"Later." 

Maggie was at the door again. "You really need to come to bed." 

"Later." He could not put faces on the man and the boy. 

Maggie was back. Her blotched skin was covered by makeup. She clutched dark glasses in her hand. She wore a somber black dress. "The car will be here in 15 minutes to take us to the church." 

He knew there was no later. 

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

Julia's Free Write

"Dad, tell me a story-" This was often my little boy’s plea – so here it is, leaving out the quote marks. Well son, a long, long time ago I lived near a river, a river where logs floated by quite often as we weren’t far from a logging mill and that was the quickest – and safest – way to get them to the mill. 

I grew up watching them and dreaming of the day that I could be a logger, like my grandpa, he was so solid, never said much, but when he did it was always worth listening too. 

He would tell me of his journey across the seas and finding a job as a logger as that was all he knew how to do- He and his brother worked side-by-side, taciturn both of them, but getting the job done. 

What must it have been like to work hours every day in the woods, to risk a tree falling on oneself, to risk cutting if the saw was not just right. 

As I grew, I too had a fascination for wood, but as I had had a more classical education, I only carved for a hobby and not as a proper job. 

Although my statues and carvings are definitely “proper”. You see the one in the corner? That’s you and me – something for you to treasure forever and to accompany you when I am not always by your side. Use it as a reminder that your father loved you and chose to fix that love in wood. Sleep now, son, the statue is watching over you. 

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