Free Write - The Scene

 

 

Just looking at how well it was burnished meant that someone, somewhere, had put a lot of effort and thought into its’ making.

 

Today's prompt was personal. The cane (Brits call them sticks) belonged to Julia's late husband and is now being used as needed by D-L. People have stopped D-L on the street, at airports and in stores to say how unusual and lovely it is. D-L may hate using the cane but appreciates it belong to a late friend and it is original in its design.

 

D-L's Free Write

 

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl. Beautiful on the outside, but inside she was a bitch and a bully. 

 

When a new girl started at her school she did all her mean tricks. The new girl's father was a wizard. To protect his daughter, he turned her tormentor's spirit into an olive tree.

 

The bully girl hated being trapped. She hated being an olive tree.

 

The only attention she received was during harvest when farmers spread orange nets under her and shook her until all the olives fell and were carted away to make oil. 

 

One winter day, many decades later, lightning cut the tree in half. Farmers came to cart the wood away, but the bully's spirit stayed within the one remaining piece of wood,

 

In the spring, a wood carver came by and took the wood back to his studio. There he carved and polished, polished and carved. How it hurt her.

 

When he finished he had a beautiful cane. The carver sold it to an old man. With the cane the old man was once again able to walk into his village and visit with friends,

At home he kept the cane in the kitchen. The girl's spirit was warmed by the fire and loved the aromas of his cooking. Slowly the girl's spirit began to mellow.

 

She was happy when the old man would show the cane to his guests. "It gave me freedom, he would say. The girl, who was no longer a bully, agreed, content she could make someone happy. 

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check her website at:. https://dlnelsonwriter.com Her 300 Unsung Women will be published this month.

Julia's Free Write

There it was, gnarled and knotted: obviously, or perhaps only to those who know woods, an old vineyard branch.

Questions flourished: why had it been cut? A discard or chosen specifically? Which vineyard? After all, it wasn’t even sure that it came from the country where it was found, as at least one owner had been German and this appeared in Switzerland!

Where did the horn which was used for the handle originate? A former pet goat? Found and picked up to recycle?

Just looking at how well it was burnished meant that someone, somewhere, had put a lot of effort and thought into its making.

For years it lived in the hall cupboard, unused, province unknown, unloved.

It is perhaps very fitting that such an object finally is being used by someone who not only appreciates its’ beauty but was also a friend of one of the original owners.

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

 

Rick's Free Write

Guiseppe had lived by himself on the hillside above the village in the Italian Piedmont for nigh on 20 years now. Since his beloved Angela had died after a fall on the rocky road. His only companion was a majestic grey heron who frequented the small pond on the property.

Guiseppe had almost domesticated the heron, whom he called Garibaldi, after his national hero. At first he would toss breadcrumbs to the bird but eventually he had him literally eating out of his hand.

Garibaldi would arrive in the fall and depart in the spring, perhaps to cooler climes in Switzerland. Guiseppe’s anticipation heightened each year as the trees began to turn brilliant colors.

In September Guiseppe was out walking, stumbling occasionally, as his knees were becoming frail. As he approached the pond he saw a familiar grey and white form. Except it was lying on the ground. As he got closer he immediately recognized Garibaldi, who was in distress.

He carried the bird carefully, stumbling as he did, to the one-room stone house, and put Garibaldi on the table.

Alas, the bird’s strength gave out and he died while Guiseppe was stroking his feathers.

After a proper period of mourning, Guiseppe decided to honor his friend and keep a part of him for the rest of his life. He sliced a branch of an old olive tree for a walking stick and fashioned Garibaldi’s right foot bone into a handle.

It gave him great comfort to still have his companion as he walked the hills.

Rick Adams, an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, is author of the book The Robot in the Simulator, Artificial Intelligence in Aviation Training.