Author: Douglas

Posted on

Day 98: Attempting Cartoon Prose

A lumpy line of green–I believe Dark Grass Green–established the distant treeline.  It’s tone necessarily darker than the foreground; it’s definition necessarily less distinct as well.  Next up the Light Grass Green and almost identical shrubs even distributed themselves along the horizon.  The conical shrubs in the distance smaller than those nearer in.  Finish off with a Brilliant Green lawn and a sinuous Grayish Yellow path entering on the left and exiting on the right.  Cue some entertaining music and the players enter.

This effort was so lame I considered not posting it at all.  As it is I delayed it’s release a day taking the time.  But that’s not what I am about here on 1000 Days.  We’ll leave judgement for the editors.

Posted on

Day 97: Five More Water Sketches

The home stretch to Day 100 is proving tough indeed. Think of this a regrouping.

 ***

The morning water draws a line from bank to bank. Bare aspens stagger out of the beaver pond and climb up the flooded slope. The edge is crisped with ice.

***

The first pellet of rain draws a line from a sagging cloud bruised purple by the punch of a Canadian cold front into the trailing edge of a Midwestern warm thing. The drop never hits the ground. It wallops the windshield of Anna Cortez’s Honda loud enough to startle her from fidgeting with the radio.

 ***

A vinegar water squirt draws a line from the red nozzle of a spray bottle to the fleeing head of an overcurious cat.

“Son of a bitch! I already fed you.”

 ***

The meniscus draws a line on the graduated cylinder indicating that Ian has just added 8 milliliters too much acid to his lab experiment. Again. It’s either dump it out and start over or do the math to figure out how many more moles of sodium hydroxide to measure out.

***

The edge of the water crystal draws a line to the next branch then angles to an obtuse 120 degrees. The branch grows in hexaradial symmetry to the next corner and makes a 240 degree turn back to parallel before the author stops trying to use geometry to describe a snowflake.

Word count:  236

Posted on

Day 96: The Qwain Train Fails Again

Kraite stroked the ridge of fur back from the corner of his mouth and twisted the thin braid at the end.  He disliked the style, but the braids appealed to Mallen.  Repeating the action made him feel thoughtful.

He was not thoughtful.  At least not anymore.

The bush in Qwain, especially here at the headwaters of the Drenfennelen river, smelled clean even a bit spicy.  The warming morning air brought with it the earth’s aroma…

The dark green foliage dropped below him in a static sort of fall.  Earlier in the morning light he’d tried to imagine the tops of the trees as sort of river of plants to match the one in water hidden below.  The trick wouldn’t go.  He couldn’t think of them as anything but what they were.  Now he was left to waiting.

Most hunts he wouldn’t get such a prime vantage point.  Normally he’d be half hung in a tree or crouched behind a too-small rock waiting in the rain for armed quarry.  This juicy gig allowed him a relaxed demeanor and he was taking full advantage.  Kraite listened again for the monk’s approach.  The human girl was below the clearing  by a switchback or two.  He pushed a bit of limestone from his perch to mark the moment.

The bit dropped out of sight before he heard it chackle across the stones lining the seasonally dry streambed below.  His perch no longer served as an aqueduct–hadn’t in centuries.

Grr…

Working to o hard to get this off the ground.  Will try again in the golden hour of the morning.  If that doesn’t take it somewhere I am moving on for a few posts.

Word count: 273