Hey Guys!
this is my second card for this week's WOJ challenge.
also I'm putting up my vignette.
true to my story's word, I made Willow's clothes red and aqua, also the WOJ challenge for this week!
Here's my story:
Willow and Oakley’s Vignette
The Thought That Counts
Oakley woke up, He sat up, looked around at the blue walls of his room; then he glanced at the green alarm clock that sat on his bedside table. It was two-thirty in the afternoon. He had gone to sleep at one o’ clock. Even though Oakley was nine and not little anymore, he did not take naps because he had to, but instead, because he wanted to. He was the only one in his family who did this. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, swung his legs around, stood up and raced out of his small bedroom, down the hall and down the spiral staircase. When he got to the bottom of the staircase, he saw his mother in the small kitchen starting dinner. He expected his twin sister, Willow, to be sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book, drinking a glass of milk, and eating a cookie, maybe. But today she was nowhere in sight.
“Mother?” asked Oakley, “Where’s Willow?”
“I think she went out to the meadow.” Oakley’s mother said with a smile.
Oakley thanked his mother and dashed out the door.
Oakley and Willow’s house had a huge yard, and across that yard was a meadow with wild flowers, Oakley knew that the meadow was one of Willow’s favorite places. She went there often to pick the flowers; when she was sad or confused. It was a cool spring day, and the trees were green. Oakley raced across the yard and skidded to a stop at the beginning of the meadow. He looked as far as his eyes could see, and he saw a figure, far away at the end of the meadow. It was Willow. He walked slowly toward her, enjoying the sweet-smelling breeze, and marveling at the arrangement of colors. There were yellows, reds, purples, oranges, pinks, and blues--every color you could think of-- scattered everywhere, but strangely organized. When he came to where Willow was kneeling, he tried to be quiet, so not to disturb the complicated thought process he was sure her brain was going through right now.
“Willow?” he asked, in barely more than a whisper. Willow turned her head to look at him. “Hi Oakley,” she answered. Her long blond hair blew in the breeze. She was wearing a long red dress with robin’s egg blue sleeves. She held a couple of daisies in her hand.
“What’s wrong?” Oakley asked. “Nothing.” Willow replied, but Oakley knew she was lying.
“Willow,” Oakley protested, “you can’t fool me. Please tell me.”
Willow shook her head no, and then looked up at her brother. He was starting to pout, and she knew that if she resisted much longer, Oakley would start to cry. He had a convenient way of getting exactly what he wanted, a feature that Willow just did not possess. No matter how hard she tried, she always ended up getting in trouble and making a fool of herself.
“Ok, I’ll tell you,” Willow said, “I heard from Father a few days ago that they were going to turn this meadow, my meadow, into property to build more houses on.” Oakley saw a tear run down Willow’s cheek, and he understood. “That means they’ll mow all the flowers down?” he asked. Willow nodded. Oakley felt sad for Willow; he kneeled down and hugged her. When he stood up, an idea came to him. “Willow?” he asked. Willow looked up to show that she was listening. “Pick your favorite flower, and make sure to get the roots with it, and also make sure that it’s the kind that will grow back every year; I’ll be right back.” Oakley ran back to the house and around to his father’s shed. He unlocked the door and stepped in. He looked all around and his eyes locked on a small, empty terracotta flowerpot on the top shelf. He dragged his father’s heavy wooden stool from a corner, and set it down under the place where the flowerpot was. He climbed on the stool and stood on his tiptoes to reach the pot. He grabbed it and stepped off the stool. He put the stool back in the corner and grabbed his father’s spade that was lying on the workbench, dipped the spade into the burlap bag of soil and dumped it into the flowerpot. He grabbed an empty water can and ran outside with the flowerpot and the spade in his hand. He closed locked the shed’s door and ran to fill the water can. He ran to the hose and turned the handle. Cold water gushed out. He put the can under the hose until the can was full, turned off the water, and ran back to the meadow, careful not to spill the water. When he got there, Willow was standing at the edge holding a cluster of pale blue forget-me-nots, the same color as her eyes. “Ok!” Oakley said, out of breath. “Put them right in here.” Willow set the flowers gently down into the pot, and Oakley put more dirt over them, poured the cold water around them, and gave to pot to Willow.
“Thank you, Oakley,” Willow said. “It’s not a whole meadow, but it’s the thought that counts.” she finished with a smile.
And together, side by side, brother and sister walked back to their house.
The Thought That Counts
Oakley woke up, He sat up, looked around at the blue walls of his room; then he glanced at the green alarm clock that sat on his bedside table. It was two-thirty in the afternoon. He had gone to sleep at one o’ clock. Even though Oakley was nine and not little anymore, he did not take naps because he had to, but instead, because he wanted to. He was the only one in his family who did this. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, swung his legs around, stood up and raced out of his small bedroom, down the hall and down the spiral staircase. When he got to the bottom of the staircase, he saw his mother in the small kitchen starting dinner. He expected his twin sister, Willow, to be sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book, drinking a glass of milk, and eating a cookie, maybe. But today she was nowhere in sight.
“Mother?” asked Oakley, “Where’s Willow?”
“I think she went out to the meadow.” Oakley’s mother said with a smile.
Oakley thanked his mother and dashed out the door.
Oakley and Willow’s house had a huge yard, and across that yard was a meadow with wild flowers, Oakley knew that the meadow was one of Willow’s favorite places. She went there often to pick the flowers; when she was sad or confused. It was a cool spring day, and the trees were green. Oakley raced across the yard and skidded to a stop at the beginning of the meadow. He looked as far as his eyes could see, and he saw a figure, far away at the end of the meadow. It was Willow. He walked slowly toward her, enjoying the sweet-smelling breeze, and marveling at the arrangement of colors. There were yellows, reds, purples, oranges, pinks, and blues--every color you could think of-- scattered everywhere, but strangely organized. When he came to where Willow was kneeling, he tried to be quiet, so not to disturb the complicated thought process he was sure her brain was going through right now.
“Willow?” he asked, in barely more than a whisper. Willow turned her head to look at him. “Hi Oakley,” she answered. Her long blond hair blew in the breeze. She was wearing a long red dress with robin’s egg blue sleeves. She held a couple of daisies in her hand.
“What’s wrong?” Oakley asked. “Nothing.” Willow replied, but Oakley knew she was lying.
“Willow,” Oakley protested, “you can’t fool me. Please tell me.”
Willow shook her head no, and then looked up at her brother. He was starting to pout, and she knew that if she resisted much longer, Oakley would start to cry. He had a convenient way of getting exactly what he wanted, a feature that Willow just did not possess. No matter how hard she tried, she always ended up getting in trouble and making a fool of herself.
“Ok, I’ll tell you,” Willow said, “I heard from Father a few days ago that they were going to turn this meadow, my meadow, into property to build more houses on.” Oakley saw a tear run down Willow’s cheek, and he understood. “That means they’ll mow all the flowers down?” he asked. Willow nodded. Oakley felt sad for Willow; he kneeled down and hugged her. When he stood up, an idea came to him. “Willow?” he asked. Willow looked up to show that she was listening. “Pick your favorite flower, and make sure to get the roots with it, and also make sure that it’s the kind that will grow back every year; I’ll be right back.” Oakley ran back to the house and around to his father’s shed. He unlocked the door and stepped in. He looked all around and his eyes locked on a small, empty terracotta flowerpot on the top shelf. He dragged his father’s heavy wooden stool from a corner, and set it down under the place where the flowerpot was. He climbed on the stool and stood on his tiptoes to reach the pot. He grabbed it and stepped off the stool. He put the stool back in the corner and grabbed his father’s spade that was lying on the workbench, dipped the spade into the burlap bag of soil and dumped it into the flowerpot. He grabbed an empty water can and ran outside with the flowerpot and the spade in his hand. He closed locked the shed’s door and ran to fill the water can. He ran to the hose and turned the handle. Cold water gushed out. He put the can under the hose until the can was full, turned off the water, and ran back to the meadow, careful not to spill the water. When he got there, Willow was standing at the edge holding a cluster of pale blue forget-me-nots, the same color as her eyes. “Ok!” Oakley said, out of breath. “Put them right in here.” Willow set the flowers gently down into the pot, and Oakley put more dirt over them, poured the cold water around them, and gave to pot to Willow.
“Thank you, Oakley,” Willow said. “It’s not a whole meadow, but it’s the thought that counts.” she finished with a smile.
And together, side by side, brother and sister walked back to their house.
The End
So... tell me what you think!
XOXO,
Gorgeous card Greta and what a sweet story you've written, so lovely! thank you so much for joining us at WOJ and sharing your story too, hugs, Jane x
ReplyDeleteBeautiful card and such a sweet story, Greta! You are b-awesome! M. :-)
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful story, Greta! I love that your card goes with it!
ReplyDeleteGreat story. Works perfectly with the card.
ReplyDelete