Day 85: That Morning in Lo Tom

I’d already decided today was going to be remarkable; this helped.

The thick mist coalesces into a light rain.  Moments later the the collected rainwater scampers down the gutters and drains into the curb of the close where Nita stands.  She backs up a few steps to keep her skirt a little dry.  The steepness of the close and the lowness of the overhead passage forces her to squat to maintain her survey of Lower Thomasburough.  She hitches up her skirt, again to keep it somewhat dry.

All along the north facade the buildings are white or whitened.  Along the obverse southern facade they walls are dark with age.  Anyone looking up the square to this corner close will see her.  White skirt, white hands, and white hair silhouetted by the black of the dark close, then framed by the white again walls.  But it’s misty and no one will be out, excepting the person she’s waiting and she’s not using her eyes to locate that one.

Nita watches the draining water fan out over the cobblestones in a wide arc running perpendicular to the gentle slope’s contour.  The tempo of the rain picks up.

Word count: 192

Day 81: Past Tense

Jason liked beginnings–liked.

All the good ones were announced: “Let’s rock”, “Mount up”, “Allonzee”, “Ready, set, go”, or “Three, two, one, blast off.” He liked them because they were loaded with possibilities. For him each beginning held hints to the end.

Gonna leave that there. I’m pushing something I can’t get my head all the way around and I’d like not to ruin this one.

And I am pretty tired tonight.

Word count: not gonna bother

Day 79: The Mother’s Foot

Inspired by this photo.

The granite of Qard Fell rises improbably above the teeming tent-city. Selith’s thinks that were he atop that monster he’d finally be alone, not that he could see for weeks in every direction. It would be quiet too.

People gather in places of natural resource: bay towns where the fishing is good, mountain villages near the useful metals, or river camps along convenient causeways. Even simple farmers congregate on the edges of wide fertile fields. The only natural resource here is curiosity.

bleh

Too many distractions this morning. I’ll try to come back tot his because I love where it’s going so far. Elements I was hoping to capture were: visuals of the tents as ants, the tight smells of food and flesh, and the incessant sounds of merchants and tinkers. I also wanted to paint the ignorance of the origin of the Qard Fell (mother’s foot to the locals).

Word count: 147

…the only natural resource is curiosity.

On my map it’s a large square in the middle of nothing surrounded closely by little dots.  The notation is ‘Qard Fell…unknown’, ‘tents…seasonal’.  Judging from the remainder of the map it must be the founding year that is unknown.  The separate designators would seem to indicate that ‘Qard Fell’ and ‘tents’ are not the same entity.  Looking out from the scrabble crusted edge of this dune above the tents, I’d say it was true.  The curious monument is very much out of place.  In the tales of the long timers it really is mother’s foot put down from the sky.

All the merchants here and many of the regular travelers has been atop the plinth.  It could be reached by ladder if anyone bothered to bring or make one, but you couldn’t sell it so why bother.  They’ve been up there when the wind flows hard drifting sand up the base.  Sitting up there is something of a rite of passage for the veterans.

As tall as the plinth is top to bottom the width is greater still.  Accounting for the drifting sand, I imagine the proportions to measure half a golden rectangle.  While others want to climb, I will begin digging at the base in the morning to be sure.

Word count:  374