Photo credit fancycrave1 on Pixabay
Sugar. Rain. Salt. Syrup. Love.
Liquid from a pitcher, tea from leaves steeped in the sun, sweet with sugar melted in warmth.
Dribble, splash. Soak-water dumped from the batter bowl.
Thick amber tilted from a honey pot, viscous, gleaming like liquid gems.
A heart into ink. That’s what I did in younger years, poured my heart into leather journals as a student, into diaries with locks as a little girl. They are funny to me now. At the time they were my deepest feelings.
Clear water into the Christmas tree stand. Powdered sugar into the mixing bowl. Walnuts, pecans, almonds, flax seeds, bought in bulk at the co-op, tumbled into glass jars. Golden-brown nuts glittering in Ball jars cut with diamond patterns.
Rye flour into a canister. Salted caramel cookies into a tin. Ruby red berries onto waffles. White wine vinger over roasted sweet potatoes.
A stream from high to low, swooshing when sugar is poured into a tub, trickling when coffee is poured from the press, tinkling when pennies are poured into a jar, clinking when candies are poured into a bowl. Scratching when words are poured onto a page.
This is a ten-minute free write prompted by the word “Pour.” I pulled the prompt from my prompt box, set the timer for 10 minutes, and wrote until the timer stopped.