Raconteur
by Stephanie
As the old woman sat speaking her stories into the recorder, her fingers worked tufts of pink fluff off the red blanket on which she sat. The story swelling with emotion, she raised her arm for effect and the tufts fell from her fingers. They floated down around her, some landing on her yellow dress, and were left to lie where they fell. Her legs, outstretched in front of her, crossed and uncrossed themselves rhythmically as she spoke, and every so often she would punctuate her story by patting the knee of her grown daughter who was seated next to her.
I like your narratives. You paint vivid word pictures. I hope you’re working on a book!
Thanks DNav! I would love to write a book some day. I’ll send my first finished manuscript to you when that day comes