Sore on Saturdays

My arms are so sore right now I can hardly type. Mike and I had our first volleyball game last night, and then I just spent the afternoon bowling. It was a lot of fun and we won our first game but my arms are so tired and aching. I couldn't even bowl the second game and just kept getting gutter balls because my hand couldn't even hold the ball anymore! Ouch!

Still, it was worth the fun of hanging out with new people. In other news, my second friday went much better than the first. Also, I start my bellydancing class on Monday, and I can't wait to start scrapbooking with the new stuff I got from the scrapbooking party.

Here is some more writing, although not poetry this time, but from one of the stories I'm working on sending out.

The first time she saw a tapestry, she was ten. In the castle, a ceiling so high her neck hurts to look up at it. In her arms, a basket of Magda’s medicines and salves, left on their doorstep. She begged her mother to let her take them. The walls of the castle are stone, the floor cold beneath her shoes. At the end of the hall, a large room with layered carpets and a fire waving in the corner. A servant takes the basket and thanks her for bringing it up so quickly. She is a young servant, with ruddy cheeks and quick hands as she unwraps the cloth to see what Magda has sent. She chatters on about the different things they’ve tried, but Shiloh hears nothing. Around her, the walls are covered in tapestries, so thick with thread she can hardly make out the images. She focuses on the center hanging: thread of gold woven with rich creams, reds and blues. Patches of violet and green linked in a complex pattern. A unicorn bowing to a woman, her robe of gold splayed around her on the forest floor. A story made of thread. The servant asks what she’s staring at. Oh, yes, the tapestries. Over a hundred years old, they are. Stories of magic woven together. Do you know that each one is like a page in a book? Beautiful, aren’t they.