Challenge #134 (photos from the Look At Me Web site) is now closed.
Challenge #135 is sparks.
Anya ,'Dirty Girls'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Challenge #134 (photos from the Look At Me Web site) is now closed.
Challenge #135 is sparks.
sweeps away all the crickets
Challenge #135 (sparks) is now closed.
Challenge #136 is circles.
I'm sorry nothing sparked for me with the last challenge. I blame my headcold and holidays.
Circling around
"It's a wonder half my cousins don't have extra fingers, the way everyone back home is related to each other. At least I know I'm not related to you, you were born in California."
"Um . . ."
"What?"
"My mother was born in West Virginia."
" . . . what part of West Virginia?"
"Grafton. That's nowhere near where you grew up, is it?"
"No. Nowhere near. It's probably a good 30 miles away."
"Well, that's a long way, what with all those hills in between."
"Long for the horse and buggy, not so long for the small world."
Heh. That's a good one, connie. It makes me think of New Guinea, where 30 miles means 5 different languages in between, not a lot of marriages made when you can't talk to each other, much less get there for the terrain.
Sad to say, I just haven't been in the writing mood. When it will kick in again, nobody knows.
Meeting Point
Trace a circle with your finger, it appears never ending. Unbroken, the circle is complete, center and limits of its own universe, nowhere to go despite its infinite length. A tangent is a line that intersects that circle at just one point without breaking the circle. It exists simultaneously as part of the circle and apart from it. No matter the length of the line, there is just the one tangent.
Fortunately, my car wheels don’t care that there can only be one point in common with the road and they take me on endless tangents to anywhere I want to go.
Rockin', Sail. Love it!
Thank you!
Challenge #136 (circles) is now closed.
Challenge #137 is in the parking lot.
In the Parking Lot
It was after hours on a Saturday evening, and the parking lot was empty. A blank canvas of blacktop, neatly divided by faded white lines. Dad had waited until it was perfect weather, nothing slick or slippery on the pavement to trip me up.
Nothing but our impatience, the trait that linked us more closely than even our features. None one ever mistook us for anything but father and daughter.
“No, don’t slam on the brakes. Honey.”
“I didn’t. Daddy.”
“You want to turn now. Now!”
“I am! See?”
He did. He saw me driving away from him one day.
Aw, man. I think you broke me.