The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles.
The aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.
If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along and read it.
This month the words are supplied by Lissa and can be found here.
2. new year
6. faith and/or:
this week you are getting a "twofer" with part one being a piece I wrote almost exactly a year ago, some of you may remember it, so that part two, using the above words will make more sense.
Part One (written 2 January 2018)
"Graziella, il mio amore, come, dance with me."
"Pietro, you old fool, it is raining."
"Bah! What is rain? Just a little water after all. Dancing in the rain is such fun! You remember, surely you remember. You must remember."
"So long ago Pietro, now we are very old."
"So we dance a little slower, come, take my hand."
Slowly Graziella stood from her place on the porch seat. Pietro took her hand and led her to the circle of grass, bordered by her favourite roses.
They danced slowly, carefully, as he whispered in her ear. "Remember Grazie, the year in America. We saw the Apollo launch, visited the submarine from World War Two. Remember Yosemite Park where we got lost?"
"I remember Pietro, we were rescued by the ranger with the so handsome face, he should have romance novels written about him."
"Ah, he was a good looking man, I was glad you were my wife already, I had confidence you would not look too long at him."
"Of course not Pietro, you are my only love. I remember his name was Byron, like the poet."
"Pah! Poetry! I need a dictionary to understand it, the archaic English language. It is not beautiful to me as it is to others."
"I know this Pietro. You like things more real, easier to understand. I remember something else from that year, that so long honeymoon we had."
"What do you remember Graziella?"
"The shark tank at the aquarium. All the sharks, constantly moving, yet so silent. But what is this Pietro? This bloody stain I see on your shirt?"
"Is nothing Grazie, a little nosebleed when I sneezed. The new doctor from germany said it might happen."
"A reaction to the medicine, yes. I did not notice right away. I should wash the shirt, not be dancing in the rain."
"But I have so little time left. The shirt can wait. Let us dance."
Now for Part Two, (written 3 January 2019) using the above words supplied by Lissa.
A short two weeks later, Pietro and Graziella were again reminiscing, this time in a pretty, quiet room at the local hospital. Pietro had taken a turn for the worse, the new medicine had not worked as well as expected.
Graziella had arrived early while Pietro still slept. She smiled at his gentle face, the flickering eyelids indicating dreaming, or perhaps preparing to wake. She arranged the new flowers in a vase and gazed with wonder at the array of vases already there, a riotous range of colour brightening the room. A different arrangement from each of their seven children, and several from friends and neighbours, all of them thanking Pietro and Graziella for their many years of friendship and assistance.
A small sound from the bed and Graziella turned to see Pietro’s bright brown eyes on her. “Grazie, my heart,” he whispered. “It is good to see you again, you have been gone too long.” “Too long? I was here last night as you fell asleep,” she said. “Ah, but five minutes apart is too long now. I know I have no time left, I must leave for a new adventure soon, I feel it in my bones. But tell me Grazie, what day is it? I have forgotten.”
“Dear Pietro, it is January second, a Wednesday and a New Year is just beginning. Tomorrow is your birthday, you will be 88 years old, surely you remember that much?” “Yes, I remember, but I have been sleeping so much, I thought maybe more days had passed. The flowers are all so beautiful, perhaps I am in heaven already and you came with me.”
“Not yet Pietro, you are still here with me, on earth” said Graziella as she began the ritual of brushing his hair and plumping his pillows, smoothing the blankets before the final touch, a tender kiss. “The children will be here to visit soon, the hospital has relaxed the visiting rules for us. I wish it weren’t this way, I don’t think I am ready for you to leave us.” She cried a few tears as she smiled at him.
“Dear heart,” Pietro whispered. “Do not cry. I am ready, I know it is time. Don’t cry too much, think instead of all the miles we travelled together, all the fun times, the babies who now bring their own babies to see us. And have faith Grazie. In time we will be together again. Listen now, do I hear the children arriving? It sounds like a crowd, they must all come at once.”