Colours of winter

Yesterday was one of astounding beauty. Driving to Lindsay and back to pick up Brenna, I was deeply affected. I will write about it, hopefully tomorrow. For tonight my priority is to finish the short story I started last evening. Right now Bren and I are headed to the butterfly conservatory in Cambridge. Another photo is posted in texture. A larger version of this photo can be viewed behind the cut. I was afraid the colours would be too subtle for my camera, but this image captured them fairly accurately without editing.



( 800 x 569 )

A writer's mystery (the conclusion)

Continued from last night. For danthered.

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"Good morning, Allison," Jack said, folding the morning paper. He must have been looking for leads. And I don't mean clues. He was neatly dressed this morning. Jack only looked that way when he had been sitting at his desk too much. When he was busy, he looked shabby.

"What do you want?" he asked.

I just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't give me that look. I know you want something because you're wearing that dress."

The red one he always liked because of the way it showed my figure. Jack was the kind of man who liked a trophy on his arm. Too bad he preferred them without brains. Or perhaps just as well, because we were never happy together unless we were quarrelling. When I walked in he didn't even stand up or offer me a chair, so I found a space on the corner of his desk. I watched him struggle between irritation and curiosity.

"No swift riposte? Something must be wrong."

How clever of him. He sounded too eager to see me discomfited. I was already beginning to wonder whether I had done the right thing, coming here. ( Read more... )