Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free-write.
You can write whatever you want in the comments section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. BREAK THE BLOG! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
Silent underneath the wooden slats, he sits. He has been sitting. Not resting. Sitting. It is an activity that requires thought, contemplation, introspection - the man does not sit carelessly.
He is listening. Not for any one thing, but for all things. For the smudge-wing gulls and the terns to cry out. He is listening for the sound of chatter, laughter. He does not think of himself as a guardian, but he should. He cannot guard the terns. The sand. The sun. This freedom. This chatter static. He guards the notion of simplicity. He runs his hands through sand-chunked hair. He closes his eyes and watches panoramas pass before the gentle lids.
Thanks for stopping by! See you next Friday.