Prompt for: Jan 21, 2016 (Fyn) Subject or Theme: You are in an antique store. Describe what you see while wandering around. What catches your fancy? Why? How does it make you feel? What thoughts come to mind as to where it came from or who might have owned it? What would you do with it? Word(s) to Include: patina, ambrosia, cobweb (or any derivatives of these words) Forbidden Word(s): it, antique, old, history, like (or any derivatives, compound or hyphenations of these words) Additional Parameters: Must be 24 lines. Make sure your object is highlighted in green. Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title or title or the brief description. Timeless The weathered sign swung from rusted links, a waving hello, a beckoning into Trinkets, Trash and Treasures. Unable to resist thrown lure, I venture in. Samovar displayed on tatted lace gleams near tarnished spoons and fine bone china cups covered in violets or cabbage roses. An aisle over a large bronze bowl held by toga-draped marble maidens is filled with potpourri. Spices from Mandalay, desiccated flower petals, cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans scent ambrosia. Farther in, a haphazard pile of embossed, leather-bound books invites perusal of gilt-edged pages whisper thin. Brass birdcage holds not a bird, but a gauzy-winged sprite with sapphire eyes perched on motionless swing. A display of cameras, circa 1870, sits on layered black and white photos of now nameless women clothed in dark, long dresses:standing stiffly, looking stern. Wicker baskets with braided handles hang overhead along with wheat flails, blackened steel scythes, and a Flexible Flyer sled. In a cobwebbed back corner something glints, sparkles beneath patina of silvered dust. Gold-leaf framed oil painting of winsome child with pink parasol and King Charles Spaniel. Multi-tiered chandelier with crystal prisms scatters rainbows to dance on worn wooden floor. Meander passes stereopticon with twin sepia-toned slides of muddied roads and Model Ts. Early 3-D ooze. Long-haired tortoise-shell cat stretches then stalks over to wind between my legs, arching up against hand smoothing down her back. She purrs, nudges, and then lies down in a stray sunbeam to carefully wash her tail. Hanging rack of frayed hand-pieced quilts, amalgamations of worn out lives serving to continue to warm. Double wedding-ring quilt; each intertwined ring comprised of bride and groom's discarded childhood, threaded by women in social circles circling round the gossip of the day. Maple shelf crowded with porcelain dolls; rosy cheeked with high button shoes and elegant gowns snuggled next to straw-filled bear with hanging-by-a-thread button eyes. Sterling silvered tray engraved with fleur de lis serves as home for cloisonné turtles, camel and a jaunty frog. Canted to the side sits Civil War era hump-backed steamer trunk, lid lifted to show vintage embroidered jacket, felt hat with peacock feathered plume and pearl-encrusted gown with fingertip sleeves and handkerchief hem. Mirrored tray in a dry sink bubbles with baubles from gone-by day: marcasite drop earrings, filigreed necklaces, rose and cream cameo pin. Plain, simple, thin, white gold wedding band waits silently. Inside, script initials, K & R, an apostrophized '08 and a single word: Stick. Which '08, I ponder, this mysterious K and R. The simple word to encompass all they were, all they would be til death departed with half of the whole, leaving one alone. Absently, I slide the ring on my third finger to find a perfect fit. We are an R and a K. My fussy rings left at home on the spoon rack, placed so they shouldn't get lost, placed safe from Monday night meatloaf makings. At the counter I ask the price, but the answer is moot. The white-haired and bespectacled proprietor smiles beneath his oversized mustache. "Attached to the ring, are you?" he asks. "Pretty much stuck," I answer, twisting the ring that will not come off. 'The ring is yours then, on me," he says turning to answer the nearby ringing phone, cutting off any reply or rebuttal. In the bright sun, out on the sidewalk, I turn to look once more before continuing on my way. Peeling paint, mottled windows, two limp chains hang holding no pretty sign. Empty shelves, a fallen step stool are all that I see in the shadows. I look down at the silver circle, a symbol of all he and I are. I smile and head home to share a tale of rings and sticks and shared glue. |