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Angus  - May 29

>  Tell me if this conjures up a mood for you,

Hmmmm ... let me see ....

A wind eddie whisks fallen leaves from curb to curb like a slender gyrating lap dancer, teasing the pavement with it's pointed finger and a threat of contact. A discarded newspaper flicks excitedly, like a dog chasing it's tail, the headline blurred in motion tells of a tragedy past. A middle aged woman heavy in thought hanging out laundry on an overcast day, optimistic that it might dry but almost not caring, her concerns are elsewhere. A dog barks in the distance while a ice cream van sits idle on an empty street, the vendor reads a two month old magazine article about film actor with a drug problem. A crow caws from a church rooftop as two little boys trade hockey cards on the steps below. The vicar looks through the old stained glass window distracted from his writing by the sounds of a young couple arguing on the street outside. A car with a single occupant drives by on the way to an appointment. A door opens and slams shut, laughter melts into the past with the running footsteps of excited small feet. Coins muted in tightly clenched fists, their presence betrayed by little voices profuse with fantastic descriptions of soon to be bought and consumed ice creams and popsicles. The vendor folds up the magazine and prepares his smile for the small customers with big expectations, the pennies in his pocket jiggle excitedly in anticipation of new playmates. The vicar resumes his contemplation of the coming Sundays sermon as the young couple kiss and make up. The middle aged woman, no older, no younger, looks up and smiles when she hears her named called by a chiseled middle aged man in military uniform, a proud taxi drives away. A freshly washed shirt lies on the grass, it holds no grudges. The wind eddie vanishes as silently as it came, a pile of rearranged leaves, it's reluctant dance partner, lays motionless by the side of the street waiting for a new experience.

...  well you did ask

Cheers
 Gus


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Dave P - May 29

holy crappp!  wow, a poet too??

p

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Brad - Jun 4

Nice one, Gus!  My fancy was tickled in a somewhat different direction:

A young girl hurries down the ancient main street of a small French village.  A shawl is held tightly beneath her face, and under her sandaled feet the ashen cobblestones are polished a silver grey by the delicate fingers of a lightly falling rain.  She is late, and notices not at all the activities of her fellow villagers, activities that would, on any other day, have slowed her step, drawn from her shy smiles and exchanges of "bien," "bonjour," "salut," delayed her with smells and sights and sounds less pedestrian than the usual duties assigned young girls in ancient French villages.  But today is a different day, a first day, for today Madeline has a "rendezvous," a meeting so secret that not even her beloved grandmother has been allowed any knowledge of its impending arrival.  Only Bruno, the charcuterie, standing behind his battered worktable, knows of the profound change that lives in our young heroine.  Despite the gleaming steel of the savage knives and cleavers displayed before him, the romantic soul of a concert pianist lies beneath Bruno's square jaw and granite shoulders.  Bruno sees.  Bruno has seen.  From his vantage behind the battered worktable and gleaming tools, Bruno has watched the shy smiles, the touch of fingers, the urgent greetings and painful partings.  Now, on this day, as rain falls gently upon stone, Bruno knows that within the folds of the tightly held shawl Madeline conceals a letter, a letter that must (Bruno has no uncertainty about this) tell of a certain boy's impending return from the front.
Lowering his solemn eyes from the street as Madeline slips from view, Bruno scans the headline of the newspaper lain before him:  "20,000 French Casualties as Somme Offensive Begins."