a case of writer's block
| Writer's Cramp entry - April 10, 2019
A Field of Larks Rising
The melody of Spring is measured in moments, thought Linda. As she walked, a field of larks rising into the warm May morning blotted out the rising sun.
"Wonderful!" she said to Henry. Henry was a black lab and her walking companion most mornings. The dog looked at her with its big brown eyes then obediently sat and waited for further instructions. "Let's go look for the old house." Henry seemed to know the command and bounded off into the field, his nose following a scent of lost roses.
"Good boy! You remember the way!" Linda had found the abandoned house some weeks ago. There was an old garden off to the side. The garden had a broken-down bench in amongst some rose bushes in bad need of pruning. She brought some loppers with her this time to do the needed trimming.
A large pile of canes at her feet, she stood back and surveyed her work, a hand to her forehead. She sat and petted the dog. "There. They look better already. Next time we come we'll bring some fertilizer," Linda said to Henry.
"Hey there! What are you doing?" A loud voice interrupted Linda's reverie. She turned around to see a large man running toward her.
"Well, you see, there were these roses, and they needed trimming, and,...." she stammered.
'Oh nuts....' thought John. 'This just won't do.' He deleted it all from the computer.
"Who am I kidding? Who is going to read this hooie?" He thought for a moment.
"I hope everyone who is my reading public, THAT is who. What do you think, Henry?"
A big black cat stretched across his lap and yawned. "You're right, as usual. I think you know more than my agent. I should fire him and give all the money to an animal shelter. Makes more sense."
John got out of his chair and walked into the kitchen, cat following behind. Henry always liked a bit of a treat at this late hour and John was well-trained. "Here you go, buddy. A sardine for you. And the rest of the can for me." John returned to the dining room with saltines, sardines, whiskey and soda. He returned to his novel.
Linda's hair had the scent of Lost Roses. It was a perfume Henry gave her before he got sick and died. She wore it to remember him. He had died over five years ago, but the pain was with her still. Would it ever disappear?
Every memory was measured in moments. The holidays where they enjoyed lazy days at the old homestead. She had worked in the old rose garden. Her time there had led to the gift of the perfume. "Melody of Spring" played on the old wind-up record player in the house where Henry sat in his favorite chair.
Another memory was walking through the tall grass near the house. Meadowlarks sang during the long summer afternoons. She held the hand of Henry and led him through the grass. At that time, his sight was dimmed. But he could still hear the lark song and sense the field of larks rising.
John leaned back in his chair and yawned. It was well past midnight. Henry the cat roamed the dining room.
"I think we are done for the day, Henry. This is just pablum. I just cannot get off this Linda/Henry merry-go-round. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Let's save this dribble and get to bed."
Two years later, the winner for fiction on many book lists was titled "Field of Larks Rising". And then last year a film that got rave reviews was also "Field of Larks Rising".
John and Henry were pleased. John said the inspiration was the combination of saltines, sardines, whiskey and soda. Oh, and Henry.