On Fridays around these parts we stop, drop, and write.
For fun, for love of the sound of words, for play, for delight, for joy and celebration at the art of communication.
For only five short, bold, beautiful minutes. Unscripted and unedited. We just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.
Won’t you join us?
- 1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Most importantly: leave a comment for the person who linked up before you – encouraging them in their writing!
He holds his heart as we wait at the red line in the immigrations queue. His face has a puzzled look. Passports slide back our way and we crane necks for one last look, one wave, one jump up and down and blow kisses. Then with heavy back packs we start the long journey to gate A49.
Familiar sights and sounds and tastes line the way and my tummy hurts at passing them good bye. He holds my hand and I’m all a rush and he’s all slower and slower until we’re finally stopped in front of the Kudu head and biltong stand. My eyes are set on where we need to be so it takes me by surprise when I look down and see the tears leaking slowly out of his own surprise.
He’s rubbing his chest. Rubbing it hard and bewildered and if only I could climb in and make it better.
“It hurts,” he says. “Mom, it just hurts so much.”
I can hardly stand to watch his face at it processes separation for the first time, since he’s not too toddler to care.
OK, show me what you’ve got.