Green
I found this writing exercise in a book I bought a while ago. The suggestion was that one should try to convey an image from ones past in words. It's suppose to aid one in being able to write from memory. I tried it and I must say not only was it a good memory exercise, but it also help in venting some old feelings I had about my grandma.
The Green Living Room
There was green everywhere. It was a never ending field of green furniture. The curtains were to blame. As sunlight shone through their layers it spill over into the room, gluing the color to
everything within.
On the balcony of the green living room was a old bench swing that would squeak and creek as it moved in the wind. We never swung on it, the adults claimed it was dangerous and that the worn iron chains would break under our weight. But we knew the real reason: Grandma did not like children marching through her living room.
Nobody entered the living room, nobody swung on the swing, cause grandma no longer could make it up those thirty odd stairs and the children had been sent away to play.
On the balcony of the green living room was a old bench swing that would squeak and creek as it moved in the wind. We never swung on it, the adults claimed it was dangerous and that the worn iron chains would break under our weight. But we knew the real reason: Grandma did not like children marching through her living room.
Nobody entered the living room, nobody swung on the swing, cause grandma no longer could make it up those thirty odd stairs and the children had been sent away to play.
Composed by Bee | 10:38 pm
2 Comments:
It is sad. I think as adults we forget the things that were important to us growing up. We forget what it was like to be a child.
I don't forget. I think I'll always remember. You think that'll make me a better parent in the future?
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