Ready?
Set.
Go.
Okay, right right. First, the rules (yours and mine):
* The contest will be open for four days, from 7AM April 26th to 12PM April 29th.
* The winner will have their choice of one of the three featured prints above (turquoise, delicious).
* I will mail to the winner their choice of print with a large smile on my face.
* The 8 x 8 inch print will be giclee printed (yummy) on textured canvas (extra yummy) with a 1/2 inch white border.
* The canvas looks decadent framed. But I don't tell winners what to do.
* I will choose the winner by judgement and discretion and by playing favourites. Or, by the number my cat's paw lands on.
And now, what to do (oy!):
* To win, you must: submit one sentence to finish the short short story excerpt below. Write your one sentence in the comments section.
* Check back the morning of the 30th for the announcement of the winner.
* There. That's easy.
And the excerpt again please:
"It will start with tea because this is how pensive moments are spent in this home. The nature of this moment is concerned with love, as it most often is. The woman with her hand aflutter above the kettle cannot think of a time when her concern will not be love; to understand it, to embody it, or at the very least, to know what it is not. _____________________."
And, in one month I will host another giveaway to choose from a fresh triptych of prints and the story to be completed will be dependent on the winning sentence in this month's contest.
So: scribble, please erase little, and submit to me. I want to know how this portion of the story ends....
[Edit: the comments are now closed. Please return for the next giveaway in May!]
25 comments:
"It will start with tea because this is how pensive moments are spent in this home. The nature of this moment is concerned with love, as it most often is. The woman with her hand aflutter above the kettle cannot think of a time when her concern will not be love; to understand it, to embody it, or at the very least, to know what it is not. The steam forms scented droplets on her soft fingertips, barely hanging there in mid-dream."
As the familiar sound of the tea bag jar popping open, she hasn't a query or worry that she will dispense all she is in the name of love.
Unknowingly touched the hot kettle, it felt as though millions of tiny needles were pricking the skin.
She winces, her hand burned by the boiling steam the moment her mind lands backwards, on him, and the days where it was not about love, but about power.
"It will start with tea because this is how pensive moments are spent in this home. The nature of this moment is concerned with love, as it most often is. The woman with her hand aflutter above the kettle cannot think of a time when her concern will not be love; to understand it, to embody it, or at the very least, to know what it is not. It will end with tears, because it will be near impossible to accept what she knows will transpire.
"It will start with tea because this is how pensive moments are spent in this home. The nature of this moment is concerned with love, as it most often is. The woman with her hand aflutter above the kettle cannot think of a time when her concern will not be love; to understand it, to embody it, or at the very least, to know what it is not. So this is it. Decision time has come.
Her unsure imaginings of the possibilities explode randomly like the bubbles forming in the near boiling water until, pierced by the shrill whistle of the kettle, they vanish like spent steam.
Silence. Her glance lingers over the teacups. Move on, love is somewhere else, this time.
Suddenly, the clearing of a throat in the adjacent room caused her spine to straighten and her thoughts to re-focus on what she had to do; disappearing now was no longer an option afforded to her.
p.s. I have loved these prints since the first time I saw them xoxoxoxox
"or at the very least, to know what is not. Then again. There are things that need to be done. Bills to pay. Deadlines to meet. And oh -- got to-got to call that phone guy back before he cuts the phone. Forget the tea. I need coffee + lots of it. Fast."
(Submitted via email by Edith Rey)
Or rather, because love is everything, to know what this 'not love' is.
"It will start with tea because this is how pensive moments are spent in this home. The nature of this moment is concerned with love, as it most often is. The woman with her hand aflutter above the kettle cannot think of a time when her concern will not be love; to understand it, to embody it, or at the very least, to know what it is not. So she smiles...
She steadies her hand, grabs the kettle with her well manicured hands and purs her lover of ten years a cup of scalding poisoned tea.
Once again he has broken her brittle heart, telling her of his plans, which do not include her, to move and she is left alone again.
She sighs, she hopes the tea will work its magic and all will be well.
PS, Thanks for the comment on my blog!
And then it hits her that she has had it all along; to know and be known, this is love.
________________________________
And I LOVE all three prints... please choose me. :)
"Love is not this constant wanting to belong and never feeling that she belonged."
(Submitted via email by Delilah F.)
What she knows is that she must be aware of these pensive moments, for they are fleeting, and in time, they will be gone, evaporating the way the steam from the kettle evaporates, leaving little, if anything, of notice that they ever even happened at all.
And as the kettle whistles the woman thinks that love is rather like hot water: so powerful that it boils and jumps, so volatile that it may evaporate and yet so strong as to summon wonderful tastes out of the simplest herb.
que pena não ter coragem em escrever em inglês!
thank you for your sweet comment.
this triptych is interesting!
Her day will close with longing because sleeping with a ghost provides more questions than answers for her ritual of tea.
♥
It will start with tea because this is how pensive moments are spent in this home. The nature of this moment is concerned with love, as it most often is. The woman with her hand aflutter above the kettle cannot think of a time when her concern will not be love; to understand it, to embody it, or at the very least, to know what it is not. To know what it is not is also to know what it is.
At this moment, love is the combination of peppermint leaf, chamomile flowers and marigold flowers.
She pours her cup of tea gazing at the morning sun through the curtains as it casts a glow of warm peach on the day. She sips her tea in contemplations of thing left undone, of a day not complete, of yet more things left unsaid. Her small hands curve the cup as the cat snuggles up in her lap purring a melody of love. She smiles and knows what must be said.
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