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 Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 5:53 pm
_______________________dew drops sparkling in the morning sun___
Alastair stretched an arm over his head as he stepped out the front door of his small two story house, closing the door behind him. It was a nice cool morning, and a perfect time to enjoy a fresh cup of hot coffee. After taking a seat on the small step outside the front door, he brought the mug to his lips and took a sip of the steaming, bitter liquid. The coffee was like a small burst of energy heating him up from the inside, which was a great refreshment after spending most of the night holed up in his office working on writing.
Or trying to write. Alastair ended up scraping most of his attempts to get his thoughts down on paper and now had a small garbage can overflowing with crumpled up pages as proof of his failures. He sighed and hanged his head. His writing wasn't improving in the slightest. In fact, sometimes, he believed his skills were getting worse with each attempt. But he wouldn't let that stop him for long. He couldn't get better if he never even tried.
Alastair leaned back against the door as his gaze swept across his front lawn. The grass was overgrown and needed mowing. He knew he needed to cut it, and probably tend to his flowers, and weed. He could see the yellow flowering weeds dotting his lawn and cringed. He tried to make time to take care of garden, but life had a way of keeping him busy.
And there was no time like the present to get things done. Alastair set the mug down on the small step then stood up. He kept his gardening tools around the back of the house. The first thing on his list of things to do would have been to mow the lawn. But given the early morning hour, he decided to put that off until later in the day. He didn't want to make enemies of grumpy neighbors woken up by the obnoxious noise of the lawn mower running. He decided to do the next step on his list: tend to his flowers. Several of the flowers looked a little wilted from not receiving proper care. He would probably have to buy some new flower to replace the dying ones. It always seemed like such a shame to see a beautiful flower slowly wither away.
But there was nothing Alastair could do to help that when he couldn't make the time to ensure the health of his flowers. But he found gardening a soothing activity to do, especially after a night of frustration.
As he turned around the corner to the back of the house, something sparking in the flowerbed caught his eye. Surprised, Alastair turned course, heading toward the flowerbed rather than continuing toward his tools. What was this object glittering in the early morning light? Maybe some animal had tried to hide its latest treasure in his flowerbed, though they would have done a very poor job at that. Alastair crouched down before the flowerbed and brushed aside the flowers for a better look at the object nestled there. A small bottle rested amid the green leaves. It was a beautiful bottle, but that wasn't what caught his interest. Alastair stared at the little droplets looking like brilliant diamonds within the bottle.
"Such a curious find," he mumbled thoughtfully as he reached down to pick up the bottle. He stood up and held the bottle up to the morning light. He liked the way the sunlight made the droplets in the bottle sparkle. But how had the bottle gotten into his garden? He looked around but saw no one jumping out to yell at him for taking their treasure. He didn't even see any animals skittering about his yard. If no one was going to claim, he saw no reason not to keep the bottle for himself. He carried it with him as he headed back into his house, deciding to place the bottle where it would receive the most sunlight.
Life did have its little ways of altering his plans for the day.
___journal__________________________________________________
___stage : bottle________________________________________
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Posted: Sat Sep 11, 2010 5:41 pm
______________________dripping, splashing, in an endless trickle___
Alastair sat in his den on the first floor. He had converted it into a cramped little library when he first moved into the house. Currently, he was reviewing some of his books and writing down notes to help with his next class lecture. There wasn't much room to sit anywhere in the room aside from the floor in one of the few clear spots. But he didn't mind that too much. He simply loved being surrounded by his books. To him, there was something warm and comforting about them.
As he prepared to jot out another quote from one of the many books opened before him, Alastair paused to listen. His house was normally fairly quiet, being only him living there. And he wasn't one to make a great deal of noise. But as he listened, he heard the soft splashes of water dropping to the floor. That was most curious. He was positive he hadn't left the water running in any of the sinks in the house, and none of the faucets were known to leak. He put aside the pad of paper and his pen then stood. He left his little library and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. A quick look toward the sink proved correct about the faucet not leaking.
But the sound originated from somewhere nearby. Alastair walked around the first floor of his house, straining his ears for the sound of dripping water. In a matter of minutes, the sound drew him to the small bottle that he left sitting on the window sill that received the most sunlight during the day. He stared at the bottle, marveling at it again for just a moment. Then realization dawned him and kicked him into action. He scooped up the bottle and rushed into the kitchen.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he muttered to himself, keeping a hand underneath the bottle like that would somehow stop the water from dripping all over the floor. It failed, and little droplets splashed upon the floor, leaving a dotted trail behind him. "You poor thing! How did you get all wet?" He pulled out a towel from one of the drawers in the kitchen and started rubbing the bottle dry.
When he thought he had wiped clean all the water, he held the bottle up to the light and stared at it. The first time he saw the bottle, he could have sworn there had been only two or three little droplets of water inside. Now looking at the bottle, he found it nearly half filled. His jaw dropped open as he tried to think of how that could be possible. Since finding the bottle, he had on more than one occasion sat and stared curiously at the bottle. But he didn't recall ever seeing the level of water inside it rise. Alastair shook his head, hardly able to understand how this had happened.
Then, as he stared at it, water welled from the top and slid down the smooth surface of the bottle. Alastair blinked wide eyes several times. He wiped the moisture away with the towel then watched the bottle for several minutes. After some time, more beads of water slid down the outside of the bottle.
"Well, I'll be! Are you crying?" Alastair could hardly think of reason for bottle only half filled to be leaking in the manner that this bottle was. He frowned. He couldn't constantly wipe the moisture away, and he didn't want the bottle to be dripping water all over the house. The thought of the water damage it could cause made him pale.
He walked toward the doorway of the kitchen and stared about the front room. There had to be some way to deal with this new little problem. He wanted to be sure to keep the bottle in the sunlight, though he could never understand the reason for that thinking. Somehow, he simply thought the bottle would be happier in the sunlight. And that was an idea thing! Thinking that a bottle might have feelings.
As he looked about, his gaze landed on a small plotted plant that sat on the window sill near where the bottle had sat. He recently purchased the plant, a small cluster of violets. It seemed oddly fitting, now, that the violets grew in a ring inside the pot. Alastair walked over to the plant then carefully placed the bottle inside the ring of violets, not wanting to crush the plant. The bottle rested contently among the flowers, somehow seeming to fit perfectly there.
"You're going to be quite troublesome, aren't you?" Alastair asked with a shake of his head. "And now I'm talking to the bottle like it might actually respond." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. At least, he had solved the problem of the constant dripping of the bottle. And the violets would be well watered. He smiled at that.
___journal__________________________________________________
___stage : dust spin_____________________________________
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