Knitting World

She was in love with the wool—not so much the knitting. Or maybe it was the idea of crafting something into life. She didn’t delve too deep. She just bought: canary yellow merino, blue sky mohair, Aran creamsicle prints—colours and textures you could sink into piled high. Imagine the cozy afghan for the couch in her mountainside cottage; the chunky sweater she would make for him; the tiny baby booties; the striped scarf for her daughter-to-be. It was worth learning the patterns for that—no matter how many times she has to unravel her stitches and start again.

Inspired by Star Bright. Photo by Delpixel.

Travel Hygiene

Things are different when you travel. Firm standards become fluid. Take laundry. A seasoned traveller avoids it entirely. A shirt you’d never wear two days in a row at home can easily last a week on the road. Change your socks, certainly: on Day 2, wear the left one on your right foot, and the right one on your left. A third day is not advisable — just stop wearing socks. Or underwear. If you must wash clothes, a cursory rub with hotel soap will suffice; use shampoo for stubborn stains. Then hang it all to dry without blocking the view.

Inspired by Travel. Photo by the author.

High Roller

I’d been living the good life but things turned quickly. Property, that’s what did me in. I was inexorably drawn to high-end real estate, and now all I had left was a tux, a silver roadster and a thousand dollars in crinkled small bills. Nothing for it but to roll the dice.

     A burst of mocking laughter. “Vroom, vroom . . . ” My eyes scanned ahead and I saw where I was headed. I counted it out, crossed the railway, missed a final Chance and slammed into destiny. The grin on Victor’s face was insufferable. “Boardwalk, one hotel. That’ll be two thousand bucks.”

Image from Cool Material. Inspired by This Bit of Innocent Play.

This Bit of Innocent Play

My cardboard doll house with its miniature kitchen with its miniature rag rug, where everything is imperfect and definitely not square or even to proper scale and who cares anyways, sits in a corner of my home office. Started and then abandoned (for now). Covered in dust, lopsided and forlorn, it is chewed on occasionally by the cat—but even she gets bored of it. I will not throw it out—this bit of innocent play. It’s hopeful. It speaks to me of life devoid of the mundane worries and existential global crises that crush me incrementally each day. 

Inspired by the playhouse in Four Very Short Stories about William Shatner.

Urban Park

In spring the air is redolent of thawing turds. At the playground, green glass glitters in the bright morning sun. Exotic labels cling to shards, attesting to the good taste of last night’s revellers. Food wrappers tumble on a soft breeze, and in the pond, lazy iridescent rainbows stream from discarded oil cans. “What’s that, Daddy?” asks the child, pointing in the water. Something floats, like a ring of calamari with a translucent tail. “Why, it’s an octopus with one tentacle,” he replies, hustling her away, on to other marvels. Beauty, mystery and romance are everywhere in an urban park.