PROMPTuesday

San Diego Momma has a fun thing going. It's PROMPTuesdays. It's about making writing fun again. Every Tuesday, she posts a “PROMPTuesday” entry, where she introduces a writing prompt and ask interested folks to write on it.

So here are the “rules:”

• Try to write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kick in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
• Aim for 250 words or less.
• Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
• Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

Need to learn more? Go here.

This is Tuesday's prompt:

“You are in a corn field, with your dog, when all of a sudden, a plastic . . .”

Photo from Library of Congress digital photo archive. Escambia Farm, Flordia, 1913, Photographer John Collier.

A sudden gust flung a fluttering plastic wrapper across the corn rows. A food wrapper, left from the funeral. The dog lifted her head from sniffing at the broken stalks to watch it skitter, shining, but lost interest and bent further to the delicious smells of dried grain, husks, mice, and loam. Her nose, black with a ridiculous heart-shaped pink center, quivered and her golden eyes turned up toward him. Although this field had been her territory for the twelve years since his father had adopted her, she still hunted it as though it were new.

The field had been harvested in July, and now in October, the remaining leaves and fibrous stalks had faded, whitened, and lost their substance. They were returning to the soil beneath the graying sky.

He shivered. "C'mon," he said to the dog. He turned back towards the farmhouse. The dog continued on, drawn by the intriguing scents, but he called again, and whistled, and obediently she turned and followed.

As they walked he could see the farmhouse drawing closer. He would have to do something with it. None of the family cared to live here, being settled across the nation - across the globe. He wondered if his father had known the local realtors. Did he prefer any of them? Dislike any of them? His father had been a man of strong opinions. It would be unfortunate if, unknowing, he chose someone his father had despised. Would the lawyer know the right person to choose?

His sister was expected to arrive tomorrow. He thought for a moment about sitting across their father's dining room table together. It had been a long time since they had done that.