Wednesday's Words on a Friday

 

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles. Sadly, Delores has now closed her blog forever due to other problems.

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 to read it and add a few encouraging words.

This month the words/prompts are supplied by Hilary Melton-Butcher and can be found here

This week's words/prompts are: 

1. tangled 

2. cream 

3. gloom 

4. movement 

5. visionary 

6. bounds 

and/or: 

1. vista  

2. carrot 

3. lyric 

4. boater 

5. dandelion 

6. gorgonzola

Here is my story:

Terry had declared himself to be visionary when it came to food, no combination of ingredients was out of bounds as far as he was concerned. I shuddered slightly, recalling some recent dinners he had prepared for guests. They had been very polite, but hadn’t made a return booking.

Early this morning, adjusting his straw boater while mouthing the lyrics to his favourite song, he had set off to the local Farmer’s Market for fresh milk and eggs, vegetables and dandelion greens. He had been gone all day, but I had long ago stopped wondering what took him so long, knowing his tendency to gossip with everyone who crossed his path.

I gazed out the window for a while, enjoying the vista spread before me, the wide, wide river, the gleaming new paint on the houseboat we rented out as a bed and breakfast, the bridge in the distance leading to a caravan park. Then I set about preparing his dinner, he’d asked for a quiche made with gorgonzola cheese and soon enough the aroma of baking filled the kitchen.

I set the timer and cleaned up the preparation mess before going into the living room to pick up the tangled mess of cream coloured wool that was somehow supposed to transform itself into a baby blanket. I was hopeless at knitting, but Betty had assured me the pattern was very easy to follow and the church was counting on us to provide as many baby blankets and clothes as we could manage.

Hours later I noticed movement in the darkening gloom of dusk and thankfully set aside the workbasket to warm the quiche just as Terry knocked the mud from his boots by the front porch. “Sorry I’m so late Molly,” he called cheerfully. “How did the quiche turn out?” “Come and see for yourself,” I replied, serving him a hearty slice, while I had a much smaller serve with  lightly steamed carrots and dandelion tea.