Brush

Early childhood memories are so rare. I remember a few things. One is the frustration my mother felt trying to run a brush through my curly hair while I screeched loudly in protest. Funny how I remember, not my pain, but her emotion.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “brush.”

Advertisements

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

8 thoughts on “Brush”

  1. The brush was filled with her dog’s undercoat. It had been a while since she had groomed her pet, but she saw that it needed to be done; besides, it was an activity enjoyed by her pet. He probably was experiencing the same sensation she did when her hairdresser combed her own hair. It was relaxing and pleasurable.

    She was sitting in the shady part of the yard where it was breezy and cool. Her dog lifting his head while his nostrils flared as he sniffed the whiffs of fresh air that swayed the surrounding trees. It was a glorious spring day, so she decided to take advantage of it.

    Getting up, she said, “Wanna go for a walk?” The reaction of her pet let her know it was a “yes.”

  2. My toothbrush has frayed
    and has started
    to curl around
    the edges
    My hairbrush landed
    in the dustbin yesterday
    and was
    almost carted away
    I burnt the wooden handle
    of my carpet brush
    while prodding
    the embers of a
    dying fire
    last winter.
    Then someone
    (someone naughty , I guess)
    singed the plastic bristles
    of my clothes brush
    to a charred sticky
    smelly crisp
    Phew , I have
    brushes
    with danger
    everyday.
    But I mostly
    brush the fear
    aside
    The sage brush
    needs trimming
    and my paint brushes
    are hard and caked
    stiff from my daughter’s
    brush with art.

  3. I have kept the brush so long that my wife makes fun of it. I have long since lost all my hair but still I run the brush across my scalp each day and remember my grandmother brushing it when I was young. I can’t have her near and despite it having no purpose the brush is my link to the woman who made me what I am today.

  4. I saw you first, you were alone admiring an anonymous Gothic painting. The gallery was hosting a local wine vineyard’s tenth or twentieth anniversary; the details are fuzzy now.

    I swirled a mostly empty glass of red wine and meandered in your direction, blankly gazing at the art on the wall; being drawn closer by your effortless gravity.

    A companion, a man you knew called out to you. Oh, to be the one that dazzling smile was meant for, but alas as you brushed past me, the spot on your ring finger was occupied by a gem whose beauty was surpassed only by yours.

An open space for your story

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s