Gunn and I have decided to post our daily, 15 minute freewrites for five days.
The koi pond was a muddy mess. One could look at it, not into it. Every once in a while a streak of orange would mark the great expanse. The boys sat around it anyways, watching for those flashes of orange. The sun beat their necks into red-skinned, glowing, heat-radiating spans. One of them idly tossed rocks into the pond, small little stones really not that much larger than gravel. Every once in a while the plop of the stone starting to sink would attract a fish, would reward them with a flash of color. The green grass showed a definite yellowing, explaining the lateness of the season with such a visual cue. The boys sat on the grass. The stone bench nearby had steeped in the sun, sending too much heat forth for bare legs in shorts. There was a small bird bath – overly gaudy like most garden decorations – but the water kept evaporating away. The gravel in the path had basalt's slightly bluish tint, its field an alternating pattern of light and shadow in miniature. There really was no garden, the pond was placed in a wheat field between stalks of yellow growing out of the dark earth. The dark earth. With their mother's warnings to not muddy their clothes, the three boys arose and moved into those rows of their father's money. They all knew that a dirt clod or two would start it, but none of them wanted to be the one to toss that first transgression, though they all wanted to be throwing. Throwing what was once dust, and would be again once it burst on the skin of another. They stood like this for years.