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Write without stopping until the timer rings. (See the transcription below.)
©2007 Ginny Wiehardt
Freewriting. What to write. Grocery store. Girl with the strawberry mole. First with father, now with mother. Fireworks in the park. Uncurious women. Evening. Cooler air. Couple sitting in their garden with their bare feet in a kiddie pool. Lawyer boyfriends know all about open container laws. Don't stop. Eight minutes to go? Don't stop. Packing suitcase. Bring the mini suitcase home from Canada. Shuttered houses. Still windmills. Half-shut cat eyes. Staying late in the office. Rain in Texas. Webs of fire ants floating down river. Great rivers. I don't know anything about Great Rivers, but we walked down to the creek the last year we lived in the dorms. Through the rain storm, Clemente and I, to see the swollen creek rushing below, threatening to overflow its banks. That's how it happens in that part of Texas. One moment the creek is a safe trickle and an hour later it could sweep you away. but it doesn't last. By the next day, the ground would have absorbed most of the water. We only had that afternoon. But we had that afternoon. We were barefoot, I remember that, though I don't know where we left our shoes. We didn't hold hands, but we felt close, as though we had. As though we had been through something more. As though the flood was standing in for something.