Writing Workshop

I'm taking a writing workshop right now. The main focus is on creative writing, and others in the class do great stuff with their characters. I seem to be hovering between prose fiction and autobiographical poetry. Here's something I wrote last night.

A stone wall warmed by the sun, in a feild of hay, is the best sort for walking on top of. And barefoot of course, is the best way to do it. Barefoot and with a friend, on a summer's day, and the smell of hay, all around.
Most of the stone walls I know have not smelled the scent of hay in a long time. They can be found aged in a forest, beneath the trees, resting. Less glamour, but no less dignity. A stroll on these walls may be less carefree, but more thoughtful. There is awe to be felt in these walls' age and experience. Seeing carefull tending, progress and yeild, now seeing unbridled growth, nature and peace.
Aging with respect. That's what we deserve. Don't move the wall, don't rebuild it, don't mimick it, don't forget it, but DO visit it. Remember with the wall, what IT was. Remember with them, who THEY were. The secret to eternal youth is hope for the future. If not for ourselves then for those who visit.

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