Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.
We write because we love words and the relief it is to just write them without worrying if they’re just right or not. So we take five minutes on Friday and write like we used to finger paint. For joy in the process. No matter how messy the result.
Got five minutes? Come and write with us! (<—Tweet this!)
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. That is like the one rule we all really care about. For reals.
OK, are you ready? I’ve had this word on my heart for you all week. Usually I’m wondering what the prompt will be right up until nearly midnight myself. But this week – this week I think a few of you at least need this word…
His hands have always fascinated me. So much bigger than mine. He can curl each finger wrapped tight around my hand, like a wing I often think. My palm curls up into the wing of his hand and I am safe there. His hands are always warmer than mine and they reach for me in church, he taps time to the songs on the back of my fingers.
We have been friends for a long time. It was a cherry blossom spring when I leaned into him behind the fountain beside the Capitol. Tonight I lean into him and this mattress that has known us together now for more than a decade. Some nights we ache into bed after the marathon of bedtime. He sleeps with his head on his hands and I have to burrow to find a finger, to hold onto. A hand to meet mine in the dark.
This center, this coming home, this safe familiar hold.
It makes the world feel less big and this bedroom a reliable island. We weary gypsies. Cherished in the palm of His hand.