Just-Jot-It-January (Jan 16-18)

Just Jot It JanuaryRidiculous, Joy, and Cycle

So, this month I’m doing a challenge to write a micro a day, for Just-Jot-It-January. Thanks to Linda G. Hill, bloggers in the “Play Group” have proposed a one-word prompt for each day. We share our responses back to Linda’s page, and are able to read what others come up with. I’ll post my responses every few days in bundles, to respect your in-boxes. But if a prompt tickles your imagination, please click its connecting link to read more!

January 18: Cycle

Cycle

You’re huddling in a downtown vestibule, at the bitter edge of the neo-trendy Warehouse district, waiting for entry to an open-space office building for tech/engineering nerds. Like me. Like so many. Before quarantine and COVID and vaccination status became the second question in every off-the-record casual conversation. You’re hoping for a change in the weather, for a job, even a temporary job, to come around.  Continue reading

Just-Jot-It-January (Jan 13-14)

Just Jot It JanuaryProtocol and Freckled

So, this month I’m doing a challenge to write a micro a day, for Just-Jot-It-January. Thanks to Linda G. Hill, bloggers in the “Play Group” have proposed a one-word prompt for each day. We share our responses back to Linda’s page, and are able to read what others come up with. I’ll post my responses every few days in bundles, to respect your in-boxes. But if a prompt tickles your imagination, please click its connecting link to read more!

Jan 14:  Freckled

Maybe Later

Snowfall, dense and quick

Buries itself in the thick, pale epidermis covering lawn,

Mounding ‘round walkways from yester-days’ storms.

Penetrating to dermis, yet temps too cold for subcutaneous damage. Continue reading

Carry On

Yellow autumn leaves

Credit: Dreamstime.com

She placed one hand on her lower back and kneaded. He leaned rakishly against her neck, an over-familiar boyfriend, amorous and a little bit drunk. Both knew what was coming. Curling her shoulder to steady him, she swept her sleeve across her brow and looked longingly up at the near-bare deciduous. Continue reading

Winter Retreat

Fox Hunt by Winslow Homer

Winslow Homer 1893

The falling snow piled around his hut, the shelter he’d built at the edge of the woods, from stone and fallen trees, meadow grass and mud, the retreat that was far enough away from the Hold that he rarely got visitors, but near enough that he could watch the lights wink out in the north tower when the weather was clear. Continue reading