Well, I am currently so out of practice with writing that I have fallen back on the advice of my old tutor. When you simply can't think of an idea, watch and describe everything around you. It'll give you writing practice while you're waiting for your muse to get her arse out of bed.
So, two observational pieces of the summertime:
One
The iron staircase slopes sharply down, the strong light casting diagonal shadow stripes across the steps, the metal warm beneath your bare feet. Bright yellow blooms wrapping around the last step herald the end of your descent.
A path leads off to the right, stone slabs marking the steps to be taken amongst the loose shale. Overblown bushes of dark burgundy and gold hued leaves crowd in, nudging you towards the wooden fence.
Small brown birds hop along the top of the fence, matching pace with you. You catch their eye and they immediately flit away to a neighbouring tree, scolding you for interrupting their play at a safe distance.
The sun has burn the clouds right out of the blue of the sky and you sit and watch the shadows flicker and listen to the chatter of the birds.
Two
The bright red and white trimmed bird box moves gently an emptily in time with the rhythm of the breeze. The birds have eschewed it in favour of performing acrobatic feats on a spindly, long limbed nearby bush. The flock has each claimed a skinny, uppermost branch and are clinging to them with the tips of their claws, swaying dangerously back and forth as the bush succumbs to the weight of the birds and the summer breeze dancing insistently through its leaves.
The birds boast loudly of their accomplishments. Behind me, hidden within the dark cavern of the laundry laden clothes horse, the cat watches, her eyes gleaming gold.
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