Day five of the writing frenzy, and I'm still gamely going at it.
For this story, I really had nothing. NOTHING! It was quite a day for me. I was so busy and stressed at work I came home from lunch and de-stressed (a little) with a book. On the way home from work five hours later, dredging up ideas and hammering my mindless grey cells against the stony emptiness of my skull, I walked by a meadow that was rushing water, and thought, "What does a stream think as it streams along?"
Voila. A poem popped into my head. It started with the line:
"The stream goes dreaming, streaming, gleaming,"
followed by the rest of these lyrics:
"Through a meadow merrily,
And it dimples dappled ripples
Lost in rushing reverie."
What does a stream dream? Hopefully, this poem will enliven, one day!
Tomorrow's day six. Onward, upward, ever forward! (No picture accompanied this poem. I can't do water, yet.