Recently, I set myself the task to write a story about the accompanying photo in fifty words. Turns out, the story ended at forty-nine words (the title “Look” is included in the word count.) It is intriguing to give yourself a word limit for a piece, then stick with it. During the process, all becomes distilled; thoughts and words.
November. Northern Plains of Montana. Winter’s stalk, damascus-sharp, and dismal edged penetrates the air. The scent, a raw mainline of dead leaves. I take a picture of skeleton trees, the gilt glow of grasses and sage against the amber light of the day’s demise. Later, I see her.
I am interested to know if you see her. A quick response in the comment section is welcome.