Your word prompt this week is
WINDOW
I love looking out the window on a snowy day and watching the flakes swirl down. Or when Jack Frost has created pretty patterns on the window pane. But as well as looking from the inside out, you can look from the outside in. What do you see when you look through others’ windows?
You may associate the word with your computer and all the trials and tribulations you’re having with Windows 11.
But let’s think about it in positive terms, perhaps of magic – a window through to another world, or it can be a window of opportunity.
What do you think about when you see the word ‘window’?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt KIND.
Self Starter
In order to be kind
To the world around you
To thine own self be true
That’s how it’s done
Let’s look at it Acrostically. King In Nearby District. Koala Inter-dimensional Neighbourhood Dispute. Kangaroo Interspecies Naturalistic Dialogue. Keep Italy Notably Delicious. Kernel Is Not Dangerous. Keswick Intrudes Norwich District. Kept It Neat, Dearest!.
Or, maybe not.
Kind is not just Anachronistic. Sorry, Acrostic.
Kind is more than that.
Kind is a prefix, and a suffix, and can just as easily stand upon its own two feet, four letters, one syllable.
.
Kindness, kind, humankind, Rekindled, etc.
Every thought needs careful weeding.
Every deed needs Spirit leading.
Every word is somewhere seeding
what is kind or what is not.
Judgemental Spread
Liked the movie
The book was better
Apples to oranges
Graded on a curve
Melons to the rind
Things of a kind
Birds of a feather
Judgemental find
Original or cover
Anticipations hover
Spending time
In decisive grind
Neither is heeded
Some things are fine
No rating needed
From me or you
On most things
Thumb has retired
No up
No down
No exposition required
Let things of a kind
Be of their kind
Splendid Sid
There was a giant’s sidekick
and his name was Splendid Sid
he’d tiptoe over toadstools
and bathe in muddy pools
always careful not to squish
the teeny-weeny fish
and when acting like king-kong
he’d sing ‘billy bong’ song
as he sailed through the trees
landing on his giant bony knees
Sid wasn’t one to stop and think
he just liked playing tiddly-winks
‘though some thought he’d lost his mind
Splendid Sid was in fact just very very kind
“You are too nice,”
I’ve heard once or twice.
Too gentle to live among wolves,
Said not as a compliment I suppose.
I’m still here for a fact,
Maybe not fierce is a tact.
Well anyway not being a contrarian,
Got me to the position of octogenarian.
I was brought up with if you didn’t have anything kind to say about someone, you kept quiet.
With some people, being kind is ‘difficult’, especially when they have hurt you beyond measure emotionally. For those, I find myself thinking of happier times, when I was a lot younger, still sensitive of being teased or criticised, but of an age when sleights weren’t fully understood. In later life, I learned not to rise to the bait, and discovered that by doing so, made them frustrated, which in turn was kind of amusing.
One hundred nineteen mentions of ‘kind
This has put me into a bind
So many a blog post
And now I am toast
It feels like deja vu in my mind!
Two of a kind is manifested in the way their eyes meet over a shared plate of French fries. It’s the unspoken agreement that he can put ketchup on the fries without having to ask her permission.
Two of a kind is how they share their fries. He takes that one, she takes this one, and neither of them keeps count. It’s sitting at the same table, hands reaching for the same French fry at the same time, and knowing what the other would do.
Two of a kind is intimate. It’s gentle, familiar, shared, like the same kind of hunger, the same kind of laughter. It spills out comfortably.
Two of a kind is when a moment no longer measures time. It’s what anchors you in a place before language, where belonging is tasted, and nothing is owed but joy.
What kind of time do you call this then,
daughter of mine, to telephone?
It is – as you say – “kind of late”.
You should have been home hours ago.
You went off with that waste of space
who you told me was “kind of fit”.
You’ve had a “kind of disagreement.”
That’s good news, I must admit.
You say you “kind of pushed him”,
and he “kind of, fell” and hit his head.
Have I misheard? Kindly explain.
How can someone be “Kind of” dead?
Leonbergers Are Kind
What kind of dog is a Leonberger? Well, a Leonberger is a kind dog. If you don’t know what a Leonberger is; it is a big fluffy, fun and friendly family dog originating in Germany. It was registered as a new breed in 1846 in the town of Leonberg by a prominent businessman named Heinrich Essig. Allegedly Essig used Saint Bernards but also Newfoundland Dogs, and allegedly Great Pyrenees (or Pyrenean mastiffs) to create a breed that was big, muscular, and looked like a lion. However, what he strived for the most was to create a friendly, confident and predictable family dog. These characteristics make the Leonberger a perfect therapy dog, and his majestic and fluffy appearance does not hurt. Leonbergers also have a great sense of smell, they are great at pulling heavy carts, and they have webbed feet (from the Newfoundland dogs) and they are great swimmers.
Please click here to head over to Thomas’s blog to read more.
Welcoming Emmy
On this one year anniversary of my husband, Billy, passing away, I want to write about a kindness he bestowed on a little dog.
We had gone to see this little black Australian Cattle Dog the day before, and went back to get her the following day. We picked the dog, named Emmy, up in Billy’s van, and he held her all the way to our home while I drove. This dog had lived its entire 6 months of life in a small house in the city, with a tiny fenced in back yard, and with 3 other dogs. The woman who owned her had five children, so the dog had only known a crowded existence.
When we got home, Emmy, was too afraid to get out of the van. She was terrified of our home, all the open space. So Billy carried her around the yard and talked to her gently. He showed her our property and the lake. Then he sat in a lawn chair with her on his lap, talking to her and petting her until she finally began to act less afraid. He took his time and didn’t rush her, and after an hour or so she was ready to put her paws on the ground. He walked around with her, encouraging her. It took several days for her to adjust to our three acres of land, but she eventually claimed our place as her own.
Emmy loved Billy more than anything or anyone. She would sleep with her head on his feet, and followed him everywhere. He took her on walks every day that he could manage it, and when his health was failing, it was his goal to be able to walk around the yard with her. She laid by his hospital bed when he was dying, she never left his side. The kindness and love that Billy showed to Emmy was not lost on her. She loved him fiercely.
Now it is just Emmy and me. In honor of Billy we went for a hike today in the woods.
When I was eight, my sister, Catherine, was four, and Hayley and Laura were fifteen months and six weeks old, respectively, my family moved to a small coastal village called Fish Hoek in the Western Cape. Our cottage was a temporary furnished rental for a period of three months while the partly built house my parents purchased was finished.
Mom was busy all day long with the babies, so Catherine and I walked to the beach on our own. Our route took us through the town and past the local grocery store. Catherine and I had been taught to be kind and helpful to others, especially elderly people. I had also been a Brownie for a few months before my family relocated from Johannesburg. Helping others was an important part of the Brownies Association’s ethos.
During one of our walks through the town, we happened to see an elderly lady struggling to carry heavy shopping bags. In those days the bags were made of brown paper and the bottoms had to be supported or they broke. Naturally, I immediately seized this opportunity to be a good Brownie and rushed over with an offer to carry the old lady’s bags for her. She accepted gratefully, and I carried the two heavy bags to her flat a few streets away. Her apartment block had stairs and no lift, which necessitated my carrying the bags up four long flights of stairs before we finally reached the door to her flat. I remember my arms aching from carrying those bags with the bottom one cradled in both my arms and the second laid on top of it. It was most uncomfortable.
The lady was pleased and invited us in for a cup of tea. This was the beginning of a lovely friendship. Once a week, Cath and I would visit this old lady and have a cup of tea with her. She always provided a delicious spread of homemade biscuits. She loved to crochet and showed me some beautiful pin cushions she’d made. I admired them so much she gifted me one on the day of our last visit before moving to our new home. I kept that pin cushion, bright green with white edging, for years and years.
I have often wondered over the years what happened to her. I hope she was happy and managed to get her groceries home without incident. I have no idea how she would have carried them up the stairs.
impulsive
small act of kindness
brightened life
of widow
living far from family
aging in quiet solitude
***
Esther Chilton 
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