Salt

Today's subject is "Dancing," and the theme is "salt." Not sure what I'm going to do with that theme, but I'm sure I'll figure something out. :) If you think of something different, I'd love to see it!
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Watching Them dance always brought a feeling of freedom with it. But at the same time, the closeness of the little pool was even more apparent when they were no longer there, with their freedom and grace to serve as a distraction. The water was still as sweet and fresh, gentle in its sweeping, cool caresses, flowing out of the pool toward the sea. Attempts to dance like Them always ended the same way - failure. Or at least, it wasn't success.

If it had been a Dance like They danced, then Sister wouldn't have laughed.

Outside the Window (Sequel)

Sheepdog provided a wonderful addition to the short prompt "Outside the Window" a few weeks ago, and it intrigued me so much that I decided to run with it. 
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"A... what?" The musty, stale smell of the room was completely at odds with the words hanging in the air between them. Wind Dancers. Sister Ethel, small and thin, with sharp eyes and bony hands, was holding a feather. The feather was attached to a faded, but colorful braid and at the end there was a silver clasp. A hair decoration, thought Jessica. She liked it, but she had a feeling about it. A weird feeling.


"A Wind Dancer." Sister Ethel's voice was patient and much quieter than the tone she used in class. She offered the feather hair decoration thing to Jessica with a faint smile. "You'll understand better if you put this on."

Music From Both Sides of the Glass

This is an old piece, but it was a fun one to write. The challenge was to write a scene between two people, first from one side, then from the other, without making them identical. Here's the result. A little more risque than some of my writing, but still safe for work.

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Bryan's Version

It was my last night in the 'States. I knew that I probably wasn't going to see her again after we left. She may have been best friend to the new girl, but she'd told me herself that there was no chance at all of her leaving her home. I had no intention of leaving mine. Franci had dragged us all on her big show tour, but I was done with it. The 'States weren't anything special, and besides that, the food tasted funny. And yet I there I was, standing in front of her house and ready to walk through the door with a bouquet of roses. The door was unlocked, of course. We'd been staying there a week already, but tomorrow morning would see us on a plane across the Atlantic. No time for fun and games when you're puddle-jumping. Or so they'd have you believe.