These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 60!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live in the burbs and work in the city (Chicago, the best city in the world). I'm an aunt, a friend and a colleague. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
Monday, March 12, 2012
This week's challenge: Check out the third definition of trail (below), and use the word exactly as it appears, in no less than 33 and no more than 333 words.
She refolded his note on the creases and
tucked it back into her wallet. In the years since he left it on her desk,
she’d only looked at it a few times. But the important thing
was, she knew the note was there, with her always, and she knew what it
said: “You have great insight, you are
compassionate, and you do things all the time that make a difference in
He had been her friend, and though he was gone his love continued to trail almost imperceptibly through her life, seeping into her heart and
strengthening it so subtly that sometimes she didn’t even notice it anymore.
But then there were other times, like
today, when she reached for that piece of simple white notepaper, with its message scrawled in blue ballpoint, and fingered it like it was a rare treasure.
According to Shakespeare, “The evil that
men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones." Oft, yes,
but not always.