I was driving home from my new job/business venture today and reflecting on various moments, including the very moment I was in, and writing little word vignettes in my head the way I do. Unlike journal writing, these are tiny little snapshots of moments that stand out, the bright threads that sparkle from the weave of the day.
The veins in her ears, the fur on her chin, the wet on her nose, the purr in her throat.
Or this from tonight,
The pink-sugared bath gel that comes out onto the scrub-glove as perfectly formed, shimmering fallopian tubes. Spread the gel with wet fingers into a butterfly. I ascribe no agenda, I have no reason. It just happens this way.
These snippets I log made me think of the book title, "Remains of the Day", a book I've never read (but would like to).
I turned the title over in my mind a few times, noticing the resonance of the phrase with my own way of working with words. I can't steal the title (I wish it were its own phrase), so I tried to come up with something else, but no luck. Not yet anyway.
Something, something, to describe those moments that linger vividly in the foreground of one's thoughts. What, yes, remains at the end of the day.
This week, dear word-nerdlings, write your own 100 word vignette of what remains of the day. You can write it as you, or as one of your characters.
Remains of the Day
If you celebrate it, have a Happy Thanksgiving - turkey, pie, football, and all that, but really, just gather that family close to you and give thanks.