Let’s just say that Tuesday is a topic-free day

Since so many (Cloe-today?) are on the road, battling the weather in attempts to get back to campus, why don’t we say that until Monday, if no topic reaches these pages by around 2 p.m. each day, then we can write our 100-words about anything we want.

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7 Responses

  1. The topic I gave myself is Mardi Gras……….

    You can feel the energy in the streets. It is flowing through the veins of the people and across the power lines down into the cracks of the streets. The air is thick sweat. People packed to touch. A float rolls through the street, energy explodes. Popping out the veins it bursts through the air and out fingertips. The energy blows out mouths screaming to be given recognition. People just like to be noticed. Attention. Given. Taken. Recieved. Energy feels fast and ebbs and flows with the floats. It pools in droplets of sweat roll down your neck like beads.

  2. “family”

    You can make tea from calendula. I saw it dried for the first time at the co-op yesterday when I was looking for parsley (which, I’ve discovered, is a natural diuretic).

    Bio-mom grew calendula, black eyed susans, purple cosmos, bleeding hearts, and dalias beneath our twisted apple tree. The tree only bore fruit once that I remember. It was sour and pale green. Too small to be ripe. Any longer though, and I wouldn’t have tasted it.

    The crows were vicious in that backyard. Now they seem too sick and polluted to be sweeping apples out of a kid’s fists.

  3. Birthdays: It’s 10:23, and my dad wants to go to sleep. But that’s not really the point. You know how old people are (he reads these exercises, heh, heh, heh). More importantly, it’s my birthday time, October 23. I don’t remember when I started loving 10:23, but it always gives me a little lift. It’s not the same as the thrill of a real birthday – which is wearing off more and more each year – but it’s fun to be taken by surprise. To pause. For a moment. And think about nothing. Not past birthdays. Not the future. Nothing. but. the time.

  4. On Driving

    I hopped in the car, a Peugeot 309. The instructor sat down and fastened his seatbelt and told me to start, so I did. Except it wouldn’t start, I couldn’t start the car. I tried and tried, but the instructor said nothing.

    Twenty minutes later, a friend in another Peugeot passed me, cruising around the circuit, honking his horn at my motionless car. I beeped back at him. My instructor was then shaken from his silent trance.

    “The horn is only used in case of emergency, and not to salute a friend, pedestrian or passerby.”

    That was the end of lesson number one.

  5. Chapstick

    Sometimes Burt and his Bees come to my rescue. When my lips are screaming, out in the cold Vermont air. My constant companion. He soothes my chapped lips and serves his owner well. I take Burt on daily field trips. He tries out different pockets to determine which suites the two of us best. In high school, we settled on the chest pocket of my shirt. Close to my heart (and my lips). Always reliable. Late at night, he’d stay up ‘til dawn with me while I studied.
    Tip: Burt’s Bees on the eyelids is quite helpful when pulling all-nighters.

  6. Cactus

    I spent today hiking the cactus-pricked mountains of southern Arizona beneath as unencumbered skies as I’ve ever seen. People from these parts called it a cold day. As I skirted clumps of prickly pear on the ascent, pulling off top layers, I thought about how hard it’s snowing at home across the tree-wrapped summits of Vermont, mountains that evoke comfort rather than inspiration. This landscape? I would take to these trails every cool day if I lived here, rising upward above the human-inhabited canyons to the rocky, dry mountaintops with the raptors, the mountain lions and the saguaro as company.

  7. Chocolate:

    The Periodic Table of a Chocolate habit.

    [C]risp and powerful, the smell surges up my nostrils when I tear apart the mate black paper.

    [H]ot greedy hands tug the satiny bar from its confines. The cold meets my sweaty fingers and I lick off the results.

    [O]ne piece snapped off slips under my tongue and oozes into the crevices of my mouth.

    [Co]ated with a creamy layer of bittersweet deliciousness, my teeth all but disappear under a winter coat of sweetness.

    [La]vish morsels whip my taste buds into a silent frenzy of salivation.

    [Te]n seconds of bliss. Rinse and repeat.

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