Cover the Emptiness

image: wax115 on rgbstock.com

She pulled on her father’s boots last, taking the time to do up all the laces and then tuck the excess into the side around her feet. The boots were large, larger than she had initially thought.

But at the same time, they were just the right size.

Her father wasn’t at home. In fact, he hadn’t been at home for a very long time. He likely wouldn’t be home for several more months, if he came home at all.

So she would pull on his boots and walk around the house in them all day long. If she had to leave to do anything, the boots would go with her, slowing her down and reminding her that they didn’t fit.

They would never fit.

But it would keep her father closer to her throughout the day.

She would do this every month for one whole day until her father came back from his tour of duty.

Mary smiled as she clomped around the house, making enough noise to cover up the emptiness.


Written for today’s Light and Shade Challenge: http://lightandshadechallenge.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/light-and-shade-challenge-monday-26th.html

Also written in honor of not only the men and women that serve our country but their families who are without during their service.

Thank you.

Quiet? I Think Not

Furies ain’t got nothin,’

All around me, sound invades.

Loud and raucous, this isn’t my day.

Lolly-gagging at the end of the line,

I‘m hoping to miss the inevitable gathering of the pack.

Now I must temporarily depart from my writing.

Getting the gathered children to quieten for only a moment, please?

Dinner anyone?

Silence is missed most dearly at this point.

Now I miss it, though it was a good companion this morning.

One glance out the window takes me back to this time last week

When the snow, gently falling, was the only sound I could hear.


Written for last Friday’s FreeWriteFriday and partially because my house is a temporary madhouse, despite all our best efforts.

http://kellieelmore.com/2014/01/10/fwf-free-write-friday-quote-prompt-4/

“We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall.” — Louise Erdrich, Tracks