they’re like sleeting rain, something that hits you lightly & obliquely, in an uneasy way between cold, cool and the thrill of the unknown, the thrill of not sure what to do with, and now I’ve got nearly seven minutes of fleeting gifts left, trying to think of a single one – perhaps fleeting glances that feel good because you know you’ve been noticed by someone for something that seemed worthwhile to them, like this morning – went and purchased a raisin and almond splinter wheat braid at the stand in front of the supermarket, went inside for further last-minute holiday stuff like butter and milk, I might have to serve breakfast to my son and his girlfriend, came out again and earned a glance of recognition from the Turkish girl who’d sold me the braid, I think she’s Turkish, I’ve heard her speak Turkish to her colleagues at the bakery … there’s a bakery inside the mall, the stand is only for special occasions, like this upcoming Easter, for which I bought the braid – did not buy a lamb, which they also had, or a rabbit. Briefly looked at the industrially dyed eggs in the supermarket, but the colors had suspicious E numbers, probably near poisonous, why ingest crap like that, but these are not very Easterly sentiments, merely those that occur during the Easter runup
– James Steerforth
This was written in seven minutes according to instructions at Cafe Writing:
Take seven minutes (use all seven, but don’t go over), and write on the subject of fleeting gifts. This is a timed exercise and it’s expected that it won’t be perfect. Any format – fiction, essay, verse – is acceptable.
Since Easter is in there and very close, I’m also using this to wish everyone a VERY HAPPY EASTER.