SatWe. 12,28,13. Details Challenge. The Colors of a Day in the Yard

Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on December 28, 2013 0 Comments

Challenge, bring out a story by using details and imagery.

 

The Colors of a Day in the Yard

I sat in my old wicker rocking chair. The wicker was old and begining to unravel. The white paint was almost gone from the ten years it had sat in my garden.

It faced the roses my mother had planted twenty years ago. Her pink rose next to the chair was over four feet tall. I knew it needed trimmed. But I prefered to put it in a wire and stake cage. The deep, dark pink of the double petaled blossoms were so lovely against the dark green leaves.

My Rosemary bush sat beside it. The grayish green needles softened the stronger colors of the roses. A happy looking, little stone gnome peeked out from it’s lowest leaves. My brother was nine years old when he bought me that cheerful little guy in his bright blue trowsers, and yellow orange shirt. His blue pointed cap was canted to the side.

Planted in a hill off to the east of the rosemary bush were the rest of my flowers. A riot of red, blue and white petunias, mixed with the black and orange and gold of black eyed Suzans, golden Marygolds, and white Shasta daisies.

There had been many more flowers once. Now, I just kept easy care flowers, and herbs like my golden sage, dark green thyme and lovely purple flowered lavender.

The rest of my little yard was covered with red cedar beauty bark. Now, that I was getting older, and had to use my walker so much of the time, the lush green grass that had once covered the center of my thirty foot yard was far too much to handle.

It was all enclosed by a simple seven foot white picket fence. That kept the neighbor’s huge black Great Dane with the white chest out of my flowers. He was a nice, gentle dog; but what a giant.

Leaning against that picket fence was my trellis full of purple lilacs. They had escaped the fence, and were beginning to cover the fence. I no longer cared. They were pretty framed with those white stakes.

It was just nice to sit and enjoy.

Sharon Pribble

Fiction

SatWe/ 12,28,13. Details.

About the Author ()

72 year old retired state microfilm camera operator.

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