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The uttermost end of my world

Posted on August 27, 2003 in Book of Days Residences

Note: This is part of a series based on exercises from A Writer’s Book of Days. It’s something of a rebellion against the Friday Five and similar tupperware content memes.

Today’s topic: You are in the backyard.

If you enter my home through the front door and walk down the hall towards the back, you will arrive in my office. It stretches from the window to a sink — a “half bath” is how the realator described it. There’s a ledge over one of the closets, two desks, lots of bookshelves, a printer stand, and no back door.

This is the end of my world. I have no back yard in the sense of grass, rose bushes, hibiscus, peach trees, palms, and pines. This is where I recreate, where I play games, and sit in a chair, watching the neighbors passing on the street. This is my back yard, my place of comfort and refuge.

Instead of growing sunflowers and snapdragons, I grow words. I hang pictures of animals and sepia-skinned people on the wall. I place dictionaries, nature guides, and histories on the shelves. I linger under the swirling ceiling fan and think of you in your back yard and I am jealous of the breeze blowing over you; of your crenellated fence; of the grass, the flowers, and the trees that you have for real.



Want to participate? First either get yourself a copy of A Writer’s Book of Days by Judy Reeves or read these guidelines. Then either check in to see what the prompt for the day is or read along in the book.

Tomorrow’ topic/prompt: Write about a dangerous ride.

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