On Thursday afternoon I went to a small writing group of mostly staff wives (only four of us all together). I have been feeling as if my blog writing is become a bit stale and repetitive. We've been coming here to Woodstock now for 3-1/2 years doing this multi-week volunteering. After a while, it seems that many of the things I think of writing about have already been covered and I need to find both new topics and new ways of writing about them.
Rose, the leader of the group, asked us to listen and write about what we hear. We were sitting in the Tea Garden below the Lyre Tree, after the staff had cleared out from having their afternoon tea. As we sat there from 4:30 to 5:30 it gradually got cooler, although the sun was still warm. Here is what I wrote:
I hear the thunk of balls. The dhobi ghat boys play cricket on Hanson Field. I can see them from my apartment window. They are there in the morning and in the evening. The Ridgewood boys are playing soccer (football here), kicking the ball from here to there.
Two boys come by talking softly, discussing how to pose one for a picture near the Lyre Tree. Fuze has his camera, as usual. He is quite a fine photographer. I wonder why the other boy is having a special photo taken.
A large jeep is bouncing on the road below. Its horn warns oncoming traffic at every corner. I wonder how many villagers and how much samaan (luggage) is loaded into and onto it.
The air is cooling down. Behind me the Health Centre workers close the windows with a bang. It's been a great day to have them open to the fresh warm air. [Note: it's still cooler inside buildings than out in the sun.]
Some children are playing at the playground. Their happy voices float out. Swings creak.
A group of high school students raise their voices on the path below. Someone has told a joke or made a comment. They all hoot and laugh together.
Here comes the sound of the bouncing ball again. This one might be just below the road. I've circled back to end where I began.
Rose, the leader of the group, asked us to listen and write about what we hear. We were sitting in the Tea Garden below the Lyre Tree, after the staff had cleared out from having their afternoon tea. As we sat there from 4:30 to 5:30 it gradually got cooler, although the sun was still warm. Here is what I wrote:
I hear the thunk of balls. The dhobi ghat boys play cricket on Hanson Field. I can see them from my apartment window. They are there in the morning and in the evening. The Ridgewood boys are playing soccer (football here), kicking the ball from here to there.
Two boys come by talking softly, discussing how to pose one for a picture near the Lyre Tree. Fuze has his camera, as usual. He is quite a fine photographer. I wonder why the other boy is having a special photo taken.
A large jeep is bouncing on the road below. Its horn warns oncoming traffic at every corner. I wonder how many villagers and how much samaan (luggage) is loaded into and onto it.
The air is cooling down. Behind me the Health Centre workers close the windows with a bang. It's been a great day to have them open to the fresh warm air. [Note: it's still cooler inside buildings than out in the sun.]
Some children are playing at the playground. Their happy voices float out. Swings creak.
A group of high school students raise their voices on the path below. Someone has told a joke or made a comment. They all hoot and laugh together.
Here comes the sound of the bouncing ball again. This one might be just below the road. I've circled back to end where I began.
I like that piece! Someday I want to visit and see if all the pictures I've created in my head from your descriptions (and photos) are anything like the reality...
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