Disclaimer: I’m sick. Coughing up yuck, achy, but still having to go to work sick since Friday is my last day before 2 weeks of vacation (yes, I typed that correctly.) It seems like the only energy I have is to move my fingers on the keyboard…so as not to get to behind in my writing (I’m trying to build a daily habit here!). So without further fanfare, I present to you my take on Days 8 and 9 for the June 2014 class of Writing 101:
It was a brisk day on the bluffs, but not so windy or cold that it prevented people from enjoying the views. With every gust , the blades of grass swayed, and the white-capped water quickened its speed towards the beach. Shoreline scrub leaned towards the sun to bathe in its warm rays.
As they strolled, he clasped his wife’s hand, fingers intertwined. She was so tiny, he often thought the slightest wind would blow her over. She was petite in frame, but strong – stronger than him by a mile. These daily walks pleased him to no end, and today was no different, despite what had happened that morning.
Nearing their favorite bench, where they usually took a brief respite so he could rest his aging bones, he saw the old woman knitting her latest project — a small, red sweater. He began to cry again. It would have fit Sam perfectly.
She spotted the bench in the distance. Old, wooden, and uncomfortable. It was the first morning they wouldn’t have to stop and she was relieved at the thought of just marching on. Sam was gone. She missed him, but the inevitable had happened and he was in a much better place now than he was last night. She was looking forward to walking farther than usual, and maybe, if she could talk the Old Man into it, taking a dip in the water on the way back. “Just our toes,” she’d plead. With luck, he’d acquiesce.
The couple walked by just as she was finishing up one of the sleeves. Number 7 would look just fine in it when she finished – she really wished her oldest son would find out the sex of his latest child, but since his wife wanted to “be surprised,” she just took to calling them by number until they were born. She figured red wasn’t too girly or boyish, so whatever it was it would keep the kid warm. She glanced down the path at the man and woman, and wondered where their little terrier had gone. She hoped he hadn’t died. Maybe she’d ask them on their way back. Or not. She never wanted to be a bother.