It’s November, the prompt is abundance. Naturally, my thoughts go straight to cornucopias and rotund relatives napping on couches, turkey gravy dribbling from the corners of their grateful mouths, everything we already know about Thanksgiving. But this is supposed to be a prompt, not an exercise in groupthink. If I wanted to conform, I could just watch “Dancing with the Stars” or wear skinny jeans and grow a really ugly beard. Cool can be cruel.
So, instead, I study the word with greater urgency, hoping to spot a seam that reveals a trapdoor. And then it emerges. Dancing pastries.
My prompt has evolved from tired holiday introspection to a celebration of yeast choreography. A King’s Hawaiian Roll jubilee with arching crescents, leaping Lefse and, of course, dancing buns. A worthwhile prompt that will lead me down a literary buffet line I have yet to visit. A proper prompt. And for that I’m truly thankful.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Home Turf.”
Mow it. Mow it now. You don’t have to edge it, or even trim it, but please, for the love of Briggs and Stratton, mow it. And try watering it too.
Home turf isn’t just my yard. It’s every lawn I can see from my yard, every dandelion I can see from my driveway, every burnt square of brown I pass driving down my street. I understand that people are busy.They have kids, jobs, dreams.
But you purchased a house, for crying out loud. Does that not imply some responsibility toward your neighbors?
We all miss a mow or two. Emergencies, equipment failures, even vacations can get in the way of lawn care. But it’s the same lawns week after week. You know who you are. Turn the porch lights on. Tape a flashlight to that thing and let’s get going.
And get those leaves while you’re at it.
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