“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


reverb10: day 3. moment. secrets and small things and nothing new.

it has been a year of storms, both inside and out, a flood, snow more than once, hail, loss.  i have sat at this computer and began more than once to tell you about the night, to story you the storm surrounding me, to say once again listen to the train across the street and can you feel the trestle rumbling? can you feel the windows trembling? and sometimes i have told you those tales and sometimes i have not.  sometimes they stay unfinished, waiting for an ending, waiting for another storm with the right words.

i tell you so much.

and yet, there are things i do not. 

today's prompt from reverb10: 
pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year.
describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

i find that i cannot.  what i would tell you has been said, what i have kept for myself is mine.  i have searched the year and find nothing left.  so i will leave it mostly unspoken, but this:  it has been the small moments, the moments when the wind moves a certain way, the mornings i awaken to find maggie's blue flowers still blooming - now here at work, but still blooming when i walk in the door, the moments when silence at last drops onto the day, that i recall most clearly.  and it has been the small moments nestled inside the big events. the weight of maggie's body when i last held her against my stomach.  the world series, that last game, the swirl of red tshirts coloring the ballpark.  the coolness of the blanco river, the hard rocks hurtful under my feet.     

you've read it all, most of this is not new.  so let me tell you this moment.  it has been a warmish day, and my toes are bare as i sit in my office, and they are cold.  i turn the small under-the-desk heater on, then off, and when it is on it is the only sound except for my fingers against this keyboard.  my tongue is all a-tingle with granny smith apple tartness, but my belly is growling for something more.  lilycat is curled atop a white blanket - until i typed those words and now she is up, green eyes the color of those apples staring at me.  she can feel i am about to leave, and she is right.  the emma tree is all aglow in the front room and there is a jeep with half a tank of gas waiting for me outside.  diana krall will sing christmas carols to me on the way home; i will only listen to the slow ones.



  1. you are a painterly writer, and this is beautiful.

  2. yes, that is what you are so good at, so perfect at, telling us those moments in just the way this prompt asked us to. you do it every time you write,
    and i do that too, only listen to the slow ones, because those are the ones that carry you home.

  3. the best moments are simple yet kept quiet

  4. Wish I could write like this. I just posted to Diana krall...Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

  5. I love how words are your paintbrush.

  6. your paint such hauntingly beautiful images with your words.

  7. what Kamana said...your words are hauntingly beautiful images. ditto.
    i don't always know of what you speak, yet it stirs such emotion deep within me and my eyes brim with tears. i keep coming back and perhaps one day i will understand. in the meantime, i ponder on your lilycat and your jeep.
    in fondest. Tilda

  8. I'm completely gobsmacked by the beauty of this post - your honesty and integrity, knowing you've shared all you wish to share and holding sacred those you haven't. And then capturing a single moment so sumptuously. Yum.

  9. ah, this is so magical. a simple, ordinary moment like many others, and you make it exquisite.

  10. That is a most blissful moment you had. Described in a way only you can. And yes, you tell so much, so richly, we only need to read a single past post to hear the reply to this prompt.


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