Sara stepped off the train, battered brown suitcase in one hand, cloche hat in place. She was open and ready for whatever this day would bring. She paused, looking around, and she felt satisfied. Very far from home, indeed. She moved along the platform, taking in the sights and sounds – the cheerful CHIME of a bicycle bell, the CREAK of wagons being loaded, a bevy of COEDS from the local uni, followed by handsome lads in boaters and seersucker. “Hey oh, miss? Are you the new secretary come to work at t’office?” Sara blinked. This, she was not prepared for – an elderly man approaching, nervously turning his hat in his hands. A rather sad-looking buggy with two old horses. “Yes, I am Sara Bradford. Are you with Mr. Smythe’s law office?” “Aye, that I am. If you will coom this way, we’ll head oof.” As she got in the buggy, he kept up a string of comments that were difficult to grasp –
something about a recent loss of a family member off the local CLEVE, and how it was like something something being caught in the CLEFT of a rock formation. Sara hoped that Mr. Smythe’s speech would be easier to follow. And she suddenly felt nervous about stepping into a family tragedy of some sort. Isn’t that what she was trying to escape??

Georg’ann

Today has been a meandering sort of day,
one in which I keep losing my TRAIN of thought
and struggle to remember the simple QUOTE
that so clearly illustrates the main point.

These poor students! It’s already
a STEEP learning curve trying to absorb principles,
of intangible and often ineffable happenings.
Unfurling from reliance on prompts and protocols.

Usually I move deftly between experiential
and explanatory, weaving meaning gracefully.
Succinctly making relevant what seems a mystery.
Today, between the hemispheres a large CLEFT.

Heather