Monday, November 27, 2006

Nanowrimo #1

The day was young: quiet and still. It was the part of the morning when the night creatures are beginning to go to sleep and the day creatures are just beginning to decide what to do with their fresh, new day. The sun entered the bedroom at an acute angle and reflected off of the brushed metal alarm clock and onto the Man’s face. The alarm clock sprung to life and yelled out for attention. The Man stirred and turned and quieted the alarm, turned again and put his arm on the Lady and fell back asleep. A tuba groaned on the street, squealed to a stop, crashed garbage cans into back, groaned again. Violas sang unpublished operetta in the dogwood tree by the couple’s window. Dénouement: shower drips, coffee pot gurgles, laughing (which hadn’t graced the house in months), footsteps, and finally, door shuts. The curtain falls on Act One as the couple departs the stage.


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