Each day this week we had to do a line balancing exercise. This is what I came up with…

 

 

7/4
Roses colorful all in a row,
Red, yellow, pink, white,
Even the black one in plain sight
From a bush they grow

7/5
Leaves lighting the trees on fire
Bright yellow, orange, red
Swallowing each branch
Burning foliage not dead
Flames of color bursting from the trunk,
But lying on the ground, crunchy, brown

7/6
Toasted to perfection,
Buttered & golden brown.
Crust removed,
sitting in a perfect square.
Not too hot,
so I chomp down.
Hints of cinnamon sugar in the air,
Breathing in the sweet aroma

7/7
Pulling on my raincoat,
& matching rain hat
Thick, slick, waterproof,
in smooth waves
of purple, green, & tan
Hair pulled back
Slipping my feet
into my rubber galoshes
Preparing to trudge across campus
through a giant shallow lake

7/8
Cold, solid, rock of frozen water.
Cut into squares,
with jagged edges on one side.
A plethora of uses,
but I don’t like too many,
Frozen fruit works better.
A glass through which to look,
for a distorted reality.

So I had to write a “lyric” based on this weeks Object Writing. I chose to write about the “leaves” & “snow” & “counter” 🙂

 

The clock winds counter inside my head,
I let my thoughts wander, they are not lead.
Away from reality at this time they go,
To seasons of fall, which leads into snow.

Trees engulfed in fire,
Flames of color bursting from the trunk;
Swallowing each branch
Bright yellow, orange, red,
Brown on the ground, crunchy & dead.
The smell of football & burning leaves in the air,
Tailgating & the Grove make a good pair.
Go Rebs, HOTTY TODDY, & WHO DAT Nation,
Autumn leads into winter, and vacation.
Vaca means Colorado & snowboarding for days,
I wish I could live that life forever and always.
Snow, glittery, fluffy, white,
Nothing but Aspens in plain sight.

The clock winds counter inside my head,
I let my thoughts wander, they are not lead.
To boys of my past, my mind now wanders,
There it remains, & about them it ponders.

One for every letter of the alphabet, no 3 maybe 4,
Who cares to count score, it’s not over I’m still racking up more.
I hate them all, yet forget them I can’t,
They make me feel tiny, like a little sugar ant.
Circling a dead object are the vultures in my head,
But my memory keeps growing, keeping the birds fed.
Why they affect me so, I guess I’ll never know,
I wish the thoughts would go, can’t get rid of them though.

The clock winds counter inside my head,
I let my thoughts wander, they are not lead.
Where to next? Who knows where the wind blows,
Amazingly it never ceases, it never even slows.
The clock winds counter inside my head,
I let my thoughts wander, they are not lead.

 

I am very displeased with my writing today! I had a lot of trouble connecting to the “objects” at hand. As it were… Bicycle-5min, bracelet-10min, stockings-10min, puppy-90sec

 

Bicycle. Cold, hard metal. Round rubber tires. Riding my mountain bike through the grass as a kid. Riding everywhere on any terrain. In my bathing suit, hoping my towel didn’t get caught in the spokes. The smell of fresh cut grass in the summer air. I run through the sprinkler at my memaw and papaws house. Watermelons floating in the pool on the fourth of July. Riding my bike down the beach over little patches of sand blown up on the street. Past the big park with the playgrounds. Skip to my college years. Riding a bike to school on the snow covered streets of Salzburg, Austria. I skid out and fall. Not injured, just embarrassed. Vowing never to ride a bike again, claiming it hurts my bum. I do ride bikes, just rarely, and on a simple path! Times change, things aren’t so easy as an adult as they were in childhood

Bracelet, woven, made with love. Ever color of the rainbow, stacked up my arms. Made by my friends. Never to be taken off, only when they fall off can they be removed, lest I hurt someone’s feelings. Different patterns all strung together. Colors picked thoughtfully, made by hand. Bracelets of metal, stackable, that jingle as you wiggle your arm. Raising your hand to push the hair out of your face. Insisting they match perfectly with your earrings, rings, & outfit. Designer bracelets, David Yurman, Pandora, Catherine Popesco. The bracelets that cling, must match the ring. Bling that rhymes. Bracelets also from childhood, friendships made at camp. The arts & crafts shack. Making candles. Finally able to sign our name on the craft shack our last year as campers before becoming counselors. The ropes course was always my favorite! Bringing me back to ropes, thread, string, tied round the wrist, quintuple knotted together for dear life! Over under through the loop. Twisted together, color swirls, boxed, braided, knotted. safety pins through the loop or knot to attach to any near surface. The back of a chair, a pillow, whatever is near to continue working tirelessly on this piece of unique art for your extraordinarily beloved friend!

Stockings, pink, with a line up the back. Ballerina’s wear soft pink, as if gently kissed by the blush of a light pink rose. Tap dancers wear black fishnet, with rhinestones. Jazz dancers wear nude with a small hole at the bottom to poke the foot through when so desired. Often this is done and they are rolled up the calf, just below the knee. Dancing barefoot. Toughening your feet, developing calluses. Gymnasts/tumblers wear nude with the stirrup feet. Old ladies wear knee highs with garters. Much thinner are these “panty hose” than those “tights” dancers sport. Stockings hung by the chimney with care. They look more like giant crew socks, stuffed with candy & teddy bears when you wake up Christmas morning. The fire crackling and popping in the fireplace below. Reading books by the fire. A fancy Christmas meal. Colored dominos and puzzle time with the family. Never realized how many types of stockings there are. Other words with stock, livestock, stock market… Body stockings, another thing dancers can wear. They come all the way up under the leotard and have shoulder straps so as not to create a waistline, although these are awfully uncomfortable! No one even wears tights anymore except ballerinas. Blanking now, mind drifting. Time is running out… in life. Every minute closer to our last breath than before!

Puppy, cute & cuddly with puppy breath. Barks so weak! Jumps on top of you licking your face incessantly. Potty training is so not fun! Play fetch in the yard, bark at everything that catches attention

Today’s Object Writing. Toast-5min, Leaves-10min, Rice-10min, Work Bench-90sec

 

Mmmmmm toast! Slathered in butter & sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. Toasted to perfection. Golden brown. Still warm. I cut off the crust so it sits in a perfect square. I take a little nibble to test the temperature. Not too hot, so I chomp down on it. Leaving a perfect bite mark in my square. Like a shark might take out of a surfboard. As I continue to eat I breathe in the sweet aroma with hints of cinnamon. I wash it down with a glass of chocolate milk. An odd combination sure, but what else is new. When I’m done I wrap up the crust in my napkin and throw it away.

Leaves, crunchy, brown on the ground. Yet lighting the trees on fire! Bright yellow, orange, red! Flames of color bursting from the trunk. Swallowing each branch. Cool crisp morning air. Breathing out little puffs of smoke with each exhale as you jog down the road. With each step, the pads of your feet colliding with the cold, hard pavement. Making a light clopping noise. Breathing in the smell of burning leaves in the distance. Oddly satisfying. Feeling your heart pounding in your chest, which feels tight and restrictive, limiting your oxygen intake. Relaxing your brain, which takes in your surroundings. Nature, hearing the birds chirp in the trees. Taking a quick break to rest on an available stump. Staring up at at the blue, cloudless sky. Then back at the fire trees. Thinking how trees on the coast are never this color, remaining ever green. Back to reality your mind floats. You stand up to finish your jog home, shower, & head to the tailgate then football game where you forget all about the burning foliage. But yet the memory is all too easy to recover in times of need. Peaceful & serene

Rice, the staple of many cultures’ diet. Tiny grains sown from the earth. Expanding as they absorb water. Hard to soft, soaking up the aqueous solution. They take on flavor quite nicely. But left alone, remain fairly bland. No longer aloud to be thrown at weddings as it serves as a desiccant. Dried out and thin, expanding in the birds’ stomach fluids. However, the desiccant property is useful when technology has gotten wet on accident, as it can absorb the liquid, and restore the object to proper working order. Brown rice, white rice, yellow rice… Like people, it comes in many different packages, yet all still the same, none better than the other. Just different. One typically preferred above the others, ranked in order of favorites. I hate favoritism. In humans it creates feelings of entitlement. This is stupid. Again, all are the same none better than the other, just different. But we are talking about rice, it has no feelings. Put it in different environments & it will acclimate.

Work Bench… Not too familiar with this particular object as I have always worked in an office setting with a nice comfy desk chair. I suppose it supplies rest for those who do manual labor. Physically active all day. Working with their hands. Greasy. Useful.