by Shirley Bahlmann
I was nearing the end of my half mile walk home when I felt a tiny bit of something tumble gently into my hand. It was too dark to see what it was, but it just smaller than a green pea, was hard and had rough edges. When I got home I examined my windfall in the light. It was a piece of white gravel.
Where had it come from? I was walking under a tree when it landed in my hand. What would a piece of gravel be doing in a tree? Also, there wasn't much hand for it to fit into. I had a tape player looped around my wrist, and my fingers were cupped around the strap. My sons wondered if it had been kicked up while I was walking, but I was on smooth sidewalk.
"It's a magic rock," one son said.
"It's a meteorite," said another.
"You could write a book about it," they both agreed.
So there you go. Ideas for books come from everywhere, even falling rocks.
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3 comments:
Shirley (aka, Juanita),
Good blog; I enjoyed it.
Ooo, I agree with your son ... it's a magic rock! You should rub it every time you write and the magic will flow. Of course, considering its size and the prolific amount of writing you do, you'll have rubbed it into a tiny piece of sand in three months!
Oh, before I forget ... thanks for stopping by my blog and commenting!
So when you woke up from your dream was the rock still there?
The light of Mahonri Moriancumer?
You passed a gravel tree. They only grow in Manti, Utah.
or the last one, you have been eating way to much gravel and it is now growing out of your hand.
Hey, that's how a story begins. I can already see the plot. Oh do you have to write one, now? I think so.
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