Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

memories

" I've watched through his eyes,I've listened through his ears, and I tell you he's the one.Or at least as close as we're going to get" said Maria as she put the kettle on the Rayburn to make us both a very welcome cup of tea.
Outside was freezing with a raw northerly wind.The kind that made our noses red and our ears burn even though we had wrapped up warm to go out.
We surveyed our handiwork, remembering a day long gone when I was seven and Maria was ten. Our father had been there to help us on that day so many years in the past and his laughing voice now seemed to echo in our minds.This was his house, soon to be sold and Maria and I had taken a short break from the heartbreaking task of sorting through items well loved and cherished by our parents to recreate a moment in a happier and carefree time.
There he stood in all his splendor, a red woolen scarf around his neck. Eyes of coal black glittering in the wintry sunlight .His orange carrot nose tilted to the sky and three black buttons on his white crisp body.Standing tall in tribute on the snow covered lawn. A monument to the memory of our beloved father

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site