cynthia lee used to do this all the time, and i’ve always found it a simple, rich starter:
write about what you see.
so here’s my ten minute blob of that writing prompt, and yes, i’m still on the sofa. two more days of rest before life resumes. Here it is:
Sitting on the rescued pink sofa in the kitchen, a rescued white dog curled up next to me. The thought that I’ve had, that maybe I’m curled up too tight, maybe I’m overextending my knees. Who rescues me, my eyes flick back up to the light. The dog moves and I’m cold. Wishing there was dog again. The light ahead of me is hitting the leaves, the plants all taking nourishment in the nook. All sorts of angles in view as the legs of the ladders and step ladders and easels are all akimbo and adjuxt. I’m sure that’s not a word, but it should be. Adjuxt. There is a balloon penguin over there, resting facedown on an empty pot. It is one of my favorite spots in the house, but like everything else, it is losing itself to the chaos of transition.
There is a garland of large felted balls, in red, white and pink. A year long nod to the Christmas season. Today she finds herself draped across the lap of a concrete angel holding a lotus. How funny. And a jar half full of marbles, from my sisters wedding. A gnome hides in the greenery of that plant I’ve never known the name of, also from my sister, but not from the wedding.
Old pieces of tape on the window, marking out where the children’s art was. Art long gone, but tape remains. How strange is that connective tissue, the connection is there but the objects gone? Faded sticker shapes. Sunlight on a jade plant. How many more years will I move these jade with me? I think probably as many as I have. I do need a sun room. In my little future, ahead, I will need a sunroom.
What I see before me is that lamp I got at the flea market. Works now, all re-wired, cutest little thing ever, and it makes me think of the two lamps upstairs, waiting to find a place, waiting to be given away. The ways in which I have too much, and this season always brings that to the fore. More to that feeling of needing to disconnect, needing to close off the impressions of the outside, the needs, wants, must haves that seem to float so easily in the ether of a worldly life. Close it down, be the hermit, find more of the time to just stare into the plant corner.
Two of the windows over there are covered in plastic already, diffusing the light slightly, showing the dust of the entrapped air. 2 of the six windows. The old house giggles at my attempt to seal a draft. But I say one third, I do! The easel I picked up, so beautiful. Black and tall and even with ornamentation. And ribbons hanging, and the disco ball in the window just behind.
Thats it: ten minutes of staring and wiggling fingers at the same time. I hope you all are having a few good stares today.