The Return

SATURDAY CENTUS

http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com

We are asked to record the above illustration using our five senses.

THE RETURN

I hear the creak of the timbers,

Weathered by each passing day.

I smell the scents of the farmyard

Mixed with that of the new-mown hay.

I touch the old door with my fingers

And it opens as of old.

I taste the memory of apple pies

Hot from the stove, or cold.

I see the house I was born in,

With eyes that are growing dim,

And I only wish I could hear that voice 

Calling 'Come for your supper, Jim!'

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SILENT TREATMENT

Three days! And we hadn't spoken!

Just how long would it take?

It was all his fault! That was certain.

But which of us would break?

How I hated his negative attitude!

He was mean and he was callow!

He'd said I was all surface show!

He'd accused me of being shallow!

We'd shouted insults loud and long!

We obviously loathed each other!

I told him he was a selfish boor;

He said 'You're like your mother!'

But we ran out of insults, by-and-by,

And the Silent Treatment began.

Three days! And we hadn't spoken!

God! What an irritating man!

He was duty-bound to speak first!

After all, he was to blame!

But, if he didn't speak, I wouldn't!

Two can play at that little game!

Then I caught his eye and looked away;

Was that the ghost of a grin?

I looked back just to make certain.

I mustn't let him win!

But I couldn't stop my lips twitching

And, before, I knew it,

I'd burst out laughing and, heaven knows,

I hadn't planned to do it!

We ended up in each other's arms!

Silent Treatment was for the birds!

But, oddly enough, we discovered

We still didn't need any words!

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