friday on my mind

catefrances

she stands on the verandah, the wind whipping the cotton dress around her bare legs. she stares out to sea, a half empty wine glass in her hand. yes its that time again. he has left her alone and she has no distraction. she watches as lightning lights up the ocean and dark clouds pour forth their load. the children are asleep and she envies their innocence. it's been months since he's touched her and she feels herself growing cold from inattention. music wafts through an open window and she sways with the rhythm. she can feel the wood with her toes as she twirls and she loves its coolness and how it feels against her skin. she wonders what he thinks cause he never tells her. she wonders why she stays but she has no answer. no answer that satisfies her. she loves this time of year, when the earth smells like an expectant mother just waiting to give birth to new life. why does he choose to stay at a distance? she thought he wanted to be a part of her life. a part of her family. she thinks she made a grave error in judgement. she finishes the wine and frowns. she turns to find the wine bottle. it is empty. she sighs and enters the house to find another.

Linda

dammit, cate.......

catefrances

....... yes linda?

justam

This one came out perfectly. I can see the woman in the cotton dress!

catefrances

justam wrote:

This one came out perfectly. I can see the woman in the cotton dress!

thank you a.m.

ClutchTheDawn

"she loves this time of year, when the earth smells like an expectant mother just waiting to give birth to new life."

great line, I smelt this tonight, leaving work way too late.

after reading this piece, i stared at the wall for 5 minutes, absorbed in just thinking about the words. it's great. you make me think of some things i could change in my life, and I thank you for that.

catefrances

she wakes and buries herself under the blankets. the sound of cockatoos fills the morning and she can imagine them in the park foraging for seeds on the ground whilst one sits in a nearby tree keeping watch. she loves their whiteness against the grey green of the grass and how they wheel through the air in flocks of up to sixty, screeching at the top of their lungs about who knows what. she can hear the faint sound of saturday morning cartoons and knows the children will be huddled on the sofa eating cereal from melamine bowls too full or milk, trying not to laugh too loud so as not to disturb mummy. she wishes she could be the kind of mother who could offer consolation or stick a bandaid on a scraped knee. she used to be, but not anymore. now it requires more effort than shes capable of. she hated herself sober. and now she's not too fond of herself drunk. but right now all she can do is drink. and she does it so well. why would she give that up?