She was confused. Usually there was a title, a prompt, a line, a place to start from. Today it simply said "Write as you please, in six minutes, like a breeze".
Breeze, now there's a word she was familiar with. There was always a breeze, always a cruel wind. It hunched her shoulders and tightened her neck and made it a necessity to always be wound around in a scarf, tightly constricted.
Breeze is a soft sounding word, reminiscent of the ocean, the sea, sail boats and people swimming. It makes one think of a Coastal town, of Europe, of dining outside. The word makes one smile.
But the reality of the thing, in this damn country where fine weather is a rare thing, where winters are long and summers brief, breeze is usually wind and the wind is usually strong.
Add to that the rain and you can see where I am cming from. I am not trying to be difficult. I am not trying to be negative. I just live in a country where breezes are seldom gentle. I wish this were not the case.
It is my wish, my plan, my desire, to relocate, to taken my windswept and rain chilled body across to the other side of the world. There, in this new, kinder, frieldlier, more benign place, I will adjust, uncurl, relax. My shoulders will hang down, my neck will unwind, my scarves will be consigned to the back of the wardrobe. I will strip off my layers and run naked