Next Morning - WfW 18 March

  I repeat myself once again: This Wednesdays words by Mark Koopmans, was posted at Elephant's Child's blog as every Wednesday in March. 
   The story continues from last Wednesday. Again we meet Susan from Unicorn Farm, but there's no magic in this. Mark's words are not vehicles of magic for me.   
  I did not use all the words. It's not that they are challenging, but they are too modern, too heavy and grown-up for a story about a girl and her life - magic and mundane - in the late 70es. I painted red the words, I do not intend to use. and crossed out the ones I used. Maybe more story will follow. 
  I'm afraid these small pieces of Susan's mundane life are boring, but it is what I can come up with. 

Toilet               and/or               Ashen
Sunlight                                     Brexit
Dogma                                       Colgate
Spurs                                          Distillery
Vine                                           Elegance
Wilting                                       Flighty

  Next morning Susan awoke, as she always did, the moment their father left the house. She quickly dressed and went to the toilet where she looked out of the window. She did that every morning. Across the yard, on the wall separating their backyard from the backyards of the people in the next street, a vine was growing. It was very old, the stem near the ground was thicker around than Susan's leg. And always something happened in the vine, many birds lived there, and ladybirds, bumblebees, and earwigs. In autumn the leaves went red, and the man living on the other side of the wall peeled all the growing branches off his workshop windows, and let the branches hang dangling and wilting down Susan's backyard wall. Then Susan's father hurried out with a ladder and shears and snipped off all the hanging branches before they pulled down the rest of the vine. Susan's father said a lot of angry words while snipping and hauling down the vine branches, but as the man with the workshop did this every Autumn because his workshop had a flat top roof with skylights and the vine slowly covered these, Susan's father could do nothing but cut off the thrown over branches and swear to cut them earlier next year; which he always forgot. But this morning the vine was shining green and thriving, stretching its green tendrils up towards the sunlight and the workshop windows.
  She brushed her teeth more thoroughly than the evening before, reminding herself to write a tube of her favourite brand of toothpaste on the shopping list. Unlike Linda and their Dad she did not like the taste of Colgate, it was too strong.
  She hurried downstairs, put the kettle over for tea and crammed her schoolbooks into her satchel. Mum arrived bleary-eyed and began making tea and preparing their lunch-packets and breakfast.
  Linda arrived too, and ate a bowl of oatmeal with milk and sugar. Susan preferred toast with butter and honey. While putting on socks and shoes and braiding her hair in front of the mirror in the hall she kept an eye on Mum. Honey and toast with a note of liver pate was awful, indescribably awful. But today Susan avoided that fate, ate her toast and gulped the hot tea. Then she and Linda grabbed their school satchels and ran out of the door. School would begin in only four minutes. 


Maybe to be continued ... And oh yes, I'm still faithfully copying everything to my Unicorn Farm Blog.