February's Path
Keeping A Daybook

Just A Taste


This is a new venture for me:  Snippet Sunday.

In which (if I have it right - always questionable), I post six to ten sentences of a current work in progress, or a published something, for people to (hopefully) read and (hopefully) comment on (with hopefuly positive as in don't hurt my feelings I bruise easily comments).

Sounds simple enough I think.

So here it is:  and as it is the semi beginning of this piece it really doesn't require introduction.

{And yes it really is nine sentences.  I counted.  Honest.}


Eleanor bought Chimney Swift in the autumn.  Though she had seen the shades in the yard with her own two eyes, watched the ravens staring from the roof, skittering from one foot to the next as though the tar was hot to the touch, and heard the pond below the house beginning to bubble as she approached it.

Yet the wind had sung through the willow trees in just the right tone, the holly thicket was as lush as she had ever seen; shining with sharp talons and berries the size of small plums. Eleanor signed the papers on the rental car’s hood with a pen reluctant to give up its ink.  Perhaps she should have taken that as a sign.  Perhaps she should have slid back into the car’s leather interior, turned the key, and headed west where she had always belonged.  But the damp whispers of Chimney Swift had already taken her; made her heady with its sharp tang of winter savory, deep beds of mint, the rotting plums and apricots littering the grass beyond the house.  She was taken by it, mind and body.  Though what she took in return seemed more than fair trade.



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