Hi Friends –

Can you bear with me through another writing assignment?

#Writing 101: Point of View

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

It was a picture-perfect afternoon in late September.  The kind of day made just for such walks like this that my wife and I had started sharing over the last few months.  The crisp, but gentle breeze sweetly coaxed eager golden, copper and scarlet leaves to dance with it while the orchestra of cardinals and finches chirped a sweet tune.  Cottony clouds danced along, while the sun bathed the scene in a glowing warmth.  Our steps crunched on the crimson carpet underfoot, while my wife’s stride occasionally stretched to crack and smash plump fallen acorns, losing my grasp, but only briefly.

I thoughtfully breathed in the earthy aroma of Autumn, and sadly sighed out the grief of our “situation.”

What a pretty day!  I sure am a lucky girl!  Who ever thought I’d feel so happy and in love after 30 – – – ummmm – – – 30 – – – ?   Oh whatever!   30 something years together.

I’ve always loved Autumn.  Right??!?  My favorite time of year.  But why do I feel this funny ache in the pit of my stomach?  It reminds me of something……  I just can’t remember what…….  Oh well – who cares.  I’m happy.  I’m in love.  It’s a beautiful day.  These walks are so nice.

But, where are we???    Oh – it doesn’t matter really….  I’m with…..  you know…… my husband….. yes – my husband.

Look at that sweet lady sitting on the bench.  What is she doing?  Look at the pretty red……   ummm……. thing……. she is making.  How sweet!

I tug at my husband’s arm so we can go say “hi!”

“Why hello!”  I respond, a bit startled, when I look up at the 50-ish year old woman with the most youthful, curious, happy/sad eyes.  I am not used to even being noticed these days, let alone spoken to, while I spend my afternoons on this bench, passing the hours, reminiscing about the past, wondering how many more Autumn days like this my frail and tired body will experience.

Something feels a little awkward.  The lady is unusually cheerful.  The man seems sullen.  His eyes are weary.  They are as blue as the sky and clearly shine with love.  I watch them intently as his gaze drops from the beautiful lady, whose hand he is holding tightly, to the ground and then to the red sweater I am knitting until  they  finally meet mine.

And in an instant, the sky blueness surrounding his attentive pupils grows cloudy, as if a rain shower is about to burst forth.  A tear drips in slow motion from those deep, sad pools of blue down the mountainside of his haphazardly shaven cheek until it lands and disappears on the bright red ball of yarn by my side.

She will never remember this, he thinks.

She will never be able to do that.   Such a simple craft and pleasure gifted to those who earn the status and wisdom of a brain that ages with its body.

How much more time do we have before she won’t even know me……..

Why does he look so sad, she wonders.

It’s such a beautiful day!

And we just met this nice lady who is………  what is it called?  It’s on the tip of my tongue…….  She is making something with red yarn, and it’s called………

Oh – well – whatever – doesn’t matter…

It’s such a beautiful day!

He loves her deeply.  I can tell.

These old eyes can’t see a lot of things, but they can read the language of love.  They can also feel the intensity of anguish.

My heart is heavy.

Why do the days have to be so long?

I wish I could give my time to this pretty lady.

Cheers & Hugs,

Jodi