This week's question comes from J.J. Devine who challenged us to write a piece of flash fiction incorporating the words Purple, Egg and Happiness. Sounds almost like a Dr. Seuss story, doesn't it? Since I'm in the midst of writing a story set in a vineyard, I didn't wander very far from the farm. Here goes:
Pausing, she drew in a breath. The air tasted of soil and leaves and flowers. The mixture of scents as intoxicating as the wine they’d make after they harvested the grapes in a few weeks. As she stood, waiting, soft chirping drew her attention to the vines on her right. Except for the turning of her head, she remained motionless. A nest of quail was sequestered under the canopy of vines and leaves. Taking care, she slowly crouched to get a better peek at the small birds just beginning their lives. Barely hatched, still damp from the egg, four little babies moved jerkily, crowded but the shells they’d just emerged from. Gwen knew first hand what hard work it was to break out of a shell, to take the first steps toward a new life. The sight of the baby birds swelled the happiness already residing in her heart.
Gwen stood and smoothed the wrinkled from the ivory satin dress she wore. It was the same dress her mother had worn on her wedding day. Gwen considered it a good luck talisman. Mom and Dad had been married for twenty-five blissfully happy years. A cloud passed overhead, dimming the physical light as much as thought about how much Gwen would love to have her parents with her at this moment. Sadness eclipsed the bright glow the future held. But the melancholy was fleeting, for just as tears moistened Gwen’s eyes, the sun bloomed overhead again, caressing her shoulders in soft heat. Almost as if Mom and Dad had laid their hands on her in spirit. It was warm and encouraging, urging her forward to new life.
With one last glance at the tiny birds, a smile flitted over Gwen’s face, growing until it stretched her lips wide and crinkled her eyes at the corners. As she resumed walking toward the wonderful man waiting at the end of the row for her, the chirping birdsong was replaced by the delicate sound of a string quartet playing A Thousand Years. It wasn’t traditional for a wedding march, but it was her mother’s favorite piece, so Gwen had insisted.
Logan waited at the end of the aisle formed from the vines, his arm extended as if urging her to move faster, to get to his side. The sexy grin on his face was filled with love and confidence. Placing her hand in his, she took her place at his side, where she’d be for the rest of her life.
Your next stop is the lovely Xio Axelrod's blog. I'm eager to read her piece. Especially since I thought about her while writing mine because of the music references. She is not only a talented writer, but she's a musician and songwriter as well. I guess you can tell a love story in many ways.
Thanks for stopping by today. See you next week.