Transport: To transport oneself into the shoes of another takes more effort than simple observation. One must not only be able to appreciate the struggles and triumphs of that other person. Those are easy and visible. One must also be able to . . .
Sinking: I have this sinking feeling about the red blinking voicemail indicator light. ‘Who left the message,’ I wonder. My sweaty palms stick to my coffee cup as I try to lift it to the dry lips of my already over-caffeinated body. It gets this way at work. Sometimes. Not always.
Silk: The seam of her black silk stockings caught my eye. The grip of the delicate lace on her thigh. From her heel up her leg, the vision made my heart beg, just a little, to be bigger, to pound faster, to outlast her. Her silk legs. Her lace flesh. She was a delightful sight.
Umbrella: The dark green golf umbrella that spanned six feet above her damp ponytail created a small haven of calm. Her feet were wet, she was running out of good gloves and was worried that her bra was showing through the light colored shirt she thoughtlessly chose to wear on this predictably rainy day.
Force: The force with which the wave hit my broad hairy torso stung like a giant had was slapping my cold naked flesh.
Link to OneWord.com, which prompts me with each of the words and provides one minute to write about that word. Sometimes I run long.