Nov. 3rd Sunday Write Posted One Sunday Late

‘Twas time for the Bloomington Writers Guild’s “Third Sunday Write” for November (cf. September 13 — I seem not to have posted the one for October, lost probably in the pre-Halloween shuffle, but it wasn’t very good either), or close enough anyway, though my response may not be as artful as I would have liked.  But it had been a long day, and a depressing one at that.  So, excuses aside, here were the prompts from coordinator Shana Ritter:

1.    When dusk cloaks the day so early…..

2.    It did not go the way we hoped and so….

3.    Thanksgiving recipe….

4.    Respond to the photo

of which, this time, I went with the fourth.  Thus:

(November prompt 4. Respond to photo. . . .)

Ah,  dusk comes as we look down the river’s curve toward the sea.  All  remains peaceful and calm.  No Loch Ness wanna-be monsters this day at  least, for which we are thanks giving.  Thanks and more thanks, yes, for  peace — unlike Friday.

Yes,  Friday.  You do remember, do you not?  The watchers on Friday, shouting  their warnings into the gloaming:  “Tentacles!  Tentacles!  Krakens  approaching. . . .”

And  that’s all we heard from them.  The head of one did wash ashore Sunday  morning, his mouth still open.  It did not look happy.

But  today, today, not at all like last Friday.  At least for the moment.  The fishermen’s village not half-crushed this afternoon, boats not  aflame.  In the distance, a voice singing.  An odor of early suppers  cooking.

Not one bit like Friday!

Although, come to think of it, there is one strange item out on the horizon. . . .

But, no.  Let’s not think unhappy thoughts this time.  Not like last Friday.

And that’s all she (or in this case, he) wrote!