Short Fiction

Blue Blanket

several yarn balls
Photo by Rijan Hamidovic on Pexels.com

Blue Blanket
Red-rimmed eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, cotton mouthed, she sat on her sofa, in her spot, as she snapped open the plastic container. A familiar fragrance teased her nostrils as she gasped and then allowed the scent to overtake her senses. Staring at the blanket through blurred vision, it was soft country blue colored, with fringed edges. Knowing this blanket was her sister’s favorite, she needed to keep this treasure.

Cozying in to the familiar soft comfort of her spot on the sofa, she gathered her yarn and hook. Excitement tickled her soul as she pondered the joy her sister would feel when she saw and touched her new blanket. While it was not her taste, her sister loved blues and mauves. Selecting the soft toned, country blue was easy. This would be a gift for her sister’s 21st birthday and she wanted to give something to her sister to treasure all of her life. As was her habit, she pondered positive thoughts as she hooked the yarn. Believing that keeping good thoughts would only make for many good things, she was certain that this blanket would bring much comfort and joy.

Holding the well-loved blanket to her face, breathing in the scent, closing her eyes, memories flooded her. Feeling the softness as she grazed the blanket with her fingertips, she came across a raised, rough patch. Looking closely, there was a stain, much in the shade of red, as in nail polish. This would have been from her niece. She loved the blanket and was likely wrapped in it while she painted her nails.

Working each row, creating the design, allowing for both durability and beauty, she counted and watched as the blanket unfolded into a work of art. Her old cat would keep her lap extra warm as he crawled underneath the workings. He was old and not so likely to bat the yarn as he did in his younger years. A bit of him would go along with the blanket, as it would be very difficult to pick out his golden fur.

Even after all these years, there were gold flecks in the blanket. Oh Kitty, she thought, you now can rest with my sister and her other pet children. Tell her to keep a warm spot for me, one day. She stroked the gold and closed her eyes, remembering the comfort he brought to her in all of his days. Dozing to a nappy sleep, she woke to nothing more or less than the changes of life. And peace. Peace in knowing that those before have no more pain and peace in knowing that those left behind can best bring comfort to each other. It’s the circle.

poetry

The Art of Painting a Picture

staying on task 041219
Art Work by Lisa Tomey

The Art of Painting a Picture

First: you find a place
clearing of the dining table
placing a protective cloth
feeding the dog

Second: get your supplies
sorting through the art closet
moving the ironing board
piling up the non-art stuff

Third: you put all supplies on the table
sitting down, you realize you did not make tea
making tea you look at the art table
watching the cat drinking from your water bowl

Fourth: you sit down with your tea and proceed to paint
focusing on your subject matter, you start
before your brush finds the canvas
you are blowing off cat hairs

Fifth: sitting back in your artist’s chair
resolving to put your brush to the canvas
you hear that familiar sound
tapping at the door, the dog wants out

Sixth: do not, under any circumstances
give up
dip, move, dip, move,
soon it will be done


Today’s National Poetry Day Prompt comes from Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides Blog: “For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The Art of (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “The Art of Writing,” “The Art of Painting,” “The Art of Showing Up to Parties Fashionably Late,” and/or “The Art of Being Awesome.”

Uncategorized

PeeWee

PeeWee
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Just a little bug
leaving a potty trail
is how he got the name
PeeWee

Part of a heritage
from a friend’s tribe
of pooches
when a peekapoo and dachshund mate
you get a PeeWee

He was the baby
spoiled rotten
wouldn’t have it any other way

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He barked at the mirror image of himself
so funny
a fierce opponent of That Dog!

Little did we know
just how much of a defender
he would become

The slightest noise
would have him at the door
ready to chase whatever he heard
protecting his domain

Yes, HIS I kid you not
I would say, “he can hear a squirrel fart in the woods.”

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He knew his place
was
Wherever. He. Wanted. To. Be.

Most loved him
tolerated by some
revered as my personal love
my boy was the best

PeeWee wouldn’t have it any other way
nor would I

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…..

There you have it! This is my Poem A Day Challenge completed for Day 3 of National Poetry Month.
Prompts come from Robert Lee Brewer’s Asides Blog

Today’s prompt was: “For today’s prompt, write an animal poem. The poem could be about an animal. Or it could just mention an animal in passing. Or include an animal in your title and fail to mention the animal once in your poem. Your poem, your rules.”