Improper Placement

 By Maryanna Gabriel

T'is a mortal blow to have one's garbage rejected. It took me awhile to see the note swinging from the bin. The handle was apparently  turned towards the street. Fail. "Improper placement." Oh dear. My garbage was left behind. 

Likewise, it never ceases to amaze me how a paragraph can seem perfectly respectable and the next day it has turned the wrong way. Do the words do it of their own accord? The edits are completed for this round and already I am wanting to change things. My writer friends tell me one never truly stops wanting to edit. There is a comfort to this and now I expect it, instead of letting the urge take me by surprise.

My legs have forgotten what they were made for so I got out for a ramble. The village was so sweet and the town clock gonged a pretty Christmas carol amid the snow and lights. I felt transported to another era, a more soothing and simpler one. This time of year is my favourite.