The Writing Pad

Here are drabbles which I find amusing. I am trying to write more and these drabbles help keep my muse close by.

She looked up. The canopy of leaves and branches dappled the sunlight of the noon hour. She had hoped they would come. Every time she entered her woods, she hoped they would come. But rarely did they ever.

'No, only once did he come,' She thought to herself as she saw movement from her left eye. 'No, only a robin. Swelling his red breast and fleeing at my sudden movement,'

Lightly stepping on a moss covered rock, she heard no sound. No birds, no wind, no sound. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as her anticipation rose. Stopping and surveying the woods in front of her, the silence began to press upon her shoulders from above.

'Maybe they will come,' She thought only to hear a branch snap and the silence was instantly lifted. Birds sang, branches knocked together at the apex of the canopy. 'No only myself grasping for a sign that I am not imagining,'

Dropping her chin to her chest, she looked to the moss covered rocks which she stood. A small crystal lay at her feet. Frowning as she bent to retrieve the shiny rock, a cool breath ran across her exposed neck.

"You are not imagining," he said as she clenched the bright crystal in her palm.

Closing her eyes and turning, her breath raced. Opening her eyes, she found nothing. Clenching her jaw, she ran. No tears escaped or ragged breaths of sobs broke from her clenched lips. Slowly she stopped in the open field where she was to be picking rocks from the field. She felt numb and alone as she turned to face the woods.

She looked down at her clenched palm and opened to stare at the bright crystal in her palm. In the open day light, only a dirty quartz lie in her palm. Anger coursed through her as she raised her hand back and threw the once bright gem in to the tree line. Holding back tears, she glanced up at the blue sky above. With one more look at the woods, a dark haired elfin man stood. A quick smile and gleaming green eyes sparkled back. A quick wink and he was gone.

"Wife," the coarse voice of her husband called, "Rocks to not pick themselves,"

Hope again restored. Her mundane life was not all there was.


The hot humid summer season was upon her. No amount of open windows or doors would coax the air to move. She sat by the table waiting for the bread to raise. Her eyes gazed at the streams of sunlight streaming through the open windows. The dust hung in the air waiting for movement to send them dancing.

She smiled. Cocking her head, she imagined the dust particles were sprite maidens waiting for their cue to perform the intricate dances which they had spent the better part of their young lives learning. Inhaling through her nose and blowing a stream of hot air towards the sunbeam. 'I will set you dancing,' A smile crept to her face as the swirls and circles were illuminated by the sunlight.

Sighing, she pushed herself to her feet, which ached under the burden of the child growing within her. 'Enough daydreaming, baby,' She thought as she removed the cloth over the mounds of dough, 'dough does not kneed themselves,'

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