Writing Prompt

Last post published, I decided that instead of just musing about being a writer- as important as that is – I needed to JSW – Just Start Writing. So I am going to post a writing prompt tonight and post my response tomorrow.

Feel free to write to the prompt if you wish. I would love to see how my fellow writers imagine the same sentence.

So, the writing prompt for today is:

‘It was my turn to start digging…..’

7 thoughts on “Writing Prompt

  1. It was my turn to start digging. And today it was something I didn’t mind for once. Normally this was my least favorite part of getting the garden ready for Spring planting – digging up the old to make way for the new. But today was beautiful. Clear, sunny, just warm enough for my skin to feel kissed by the sun instead of being burnt by it. And also, there was precious little humidity, which meant I could both breathe and enjoy being outside in the real world for a change. I spent so little time out here, most my life was lived cloistered inside fabricated walls. That wasn’t the best part though. The best part of this day, and the real reason I didn’t mind the digging this time round, was that all my family was out here with me. Parents, siblings, in-laws, extended. Young, old, and every age in between. They had all come through for me. I’d gone through hell, was alive though certainly not unscathed, and here they were, not making any sort of fuss, still expecting me to do my part to help out in this yearly ritual, and…it choked me up and made me love them even more for it!

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Slowly, the earth crumbled away from the edge of the hillock. All around, eyes were watching as the sun set in hues of burnished gold and subdued peach and lavender. In the distance, I heard a whicker , a call answering to my scuffling action, as the fireflies danced on the horizon, like the mincing silvery bolts of St Elmo’s fire, flickering along the lines of the ship moored out in the bay


  3. The earth crumbled away from the hillock, rivulets of rich soil piling up at the base. Burnished hues of dying golden sunlight creeped along the silvery blue horizon where water meets sky. From the direction of the meadow, I heard a whicker answer my scuffling in the dirt. Fireflies danced along the edge of inky black sky on the hands of incoming night like the St Elmo’s fire that flickered along the lines of the ship moored out on the bat.

    Liked by 1 person

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