Good morning

A log cabin behind her, the forest before her, she said, “Good morning,” to the world around her. The piney scent of the air, the chill against her skin, the warm mug in her hands, and the knowledge that she was alone and no one knew where she was made it more than a good morning. “It’s a great day!” she shouted to the trees.

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The Written Word

I used to be enamored with the beauty of the written word. As I’ve grown older I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of clear meaning. The beauty of a well-told story no matter how beautiful the writing. I think it has to do with my attention span growing shorter.

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Strike

He held a knife to her stomach. Suddenly she knew she wanted it – that 3 month old inside her she couldn’t decide what to do about. She clutched a broken beer bottle and held it to his throat, ready to strike. They stared into each others eyes, daring, testing, judging.

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The Pitch

Over and over throughout the day, she rode the ski lift with potential investors. She made her pitch each time, to someone with money dressed in ski boots and a down jacket. As the day went by, her pitch grew better, more practiced. Over lunch, she found a taker.

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Arithmetic

The run up to the nominating conventions for the presidential candidates is all arithmetic. Delegates must add up to the proper numbers or the nomination isn’t there. Enthusiastic voters, popular votes, none  of that matters if the arithmetic isn’t there. American electoral rules are strange, indeed.

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Beyond

She always went to far. Beyond the boundary. Over the limit. She made sense at first, gathered her arguments and points. Then she slipped past that into realms where no one could follow. How could she be reined in?

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I’m Looking

I’m looking forward to tonight. I’ve been waiting a whole year for this to happen and tonight it’s finally going to happen!

I’m not the kind of person who gets excited. I have a very calm aura, you know. I’m sure you’ve noticed.

But I’m excited about tonight. Excited.

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Personal

Traffic isn’t personal. Yet we develop road rage because we take it personally. It isn’t about us, but we make it about us. There should be Burma Shave type signs along the roadways that remind us that traffic isn’t personal.

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Joy

It’s a simple joy, yet profound. It makes me smile with pleasure at just the knowing. All the stretching and grunting and shuffling needed to move beyond it still wait. The night is passed with its troubling dreams. And here it is, morning. Morning when I wake up to one more day. And I smile.

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Move

Marge had to move to think. Walking, pacing, playing catch with the dog, planting tomatoes. All those activities were her way of thinking. If she had to sit still to read, check email, or watch TV she went blank. Somehow the muscles fired the synapses for her. How do you keep moving constantly in the modern world?

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “move.”