Writing exercise as posted on the BC list: For this week's exercise, you have two options. The first comes from another member (CJ, stand up and take a bow)

Imagine a drop rolling down a glass between two people talking, as one of them diverts their attention and watches the drop glide down the glass. Enhance it, lengthen the time it takes for the drop to hit the table or even before it's licked away from the glass. *Tell us about the moisture on the hard glass, how it pools, runs and slides down the surface. Tell us what is in the glass, tell us if the condensation prompts any images for either of the people. Really treat this as though you're talking on the phone with someone who can't see it. Make me WANT to be there just to see this.* (Everything inside the asterisk is mine)

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Written reply on writing exercise: Okay, this is becoming the norm for me, but I have once again slightly modified this week’s challenge and have created…this bit below.  <g  I also chatted with the originator of this idea, that Dutch chick, what’s her name?  Helga I think.  Whatever.  Anyway, I kind of got the feel of what she was talking about and, well, I still wrote what I wanted.  <eg 

Let me know what you think at: blindzonelyzon@aol.com

Laura 

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It was one of those sultry summer days, where the simple act of breathing made you sweat.  The humidity sat on the air as if saturated, and almost could be seen by the naked eye.  It certainly was felt by the two women lingering at the cafe table, for neither of them had moved for what may have been hours now.  

Even in the shade, the heat was oppressive and made more so by the lack of movement from the stagnant air.  The only detectable motion, as far as the eye could see, was the occasional black fly.  Landing on bare arm or leg, the minute creature would only be swatted away if it became too annoying to its perch, and even then the reserve of strength could not be wasted on this kind of  day, where time seemed to stand still. 

Maybe an hour, possibly two, had passed since the pitcher of  lemonade had been placed on the table between them.  The pale yellow liquid encircled cubes of ice, and filled its container to the brim, and was the only oasis in this infernal heat.  As a man in search of life giving water in a desert, so the first two glasses were drunk by the women.  The coolness flowing over their lips, across their tongues, and washing down their throats, momentarily pushing away the scorching dryness present only seconds before and providing a welcome relief. 

The next two glasses poured and consumed were more relished, for anticipation no longer ruled their want.  Instead, pleasure took hold and allowed the satiating liquid to be tasted, admired even.  As their need relented, time had slowed till its passing was barely noticed.  Conversation had become a distant memory, a more single focus, of that before them, permeated their mind. 

Entranced by its hypnotic allure, neither woman could remove their eyes from the soft hue before them.  Watching as if mesmerized, as the shapes in its midst transformed and were absorbed by the pale color.  The coolness within the pitcher relenting to the heat battling to gain entry  and go beyond the protective walls.  The only evidence of the struggle to withstand, was that of the tiny droplets gathering in force, to face its oppressive intruder.  One by one, they succumbed to the unyielding onslaught brought forth by the heat, and at first, slipped slowly down the translucent wall.  As if attempting to cling to one another for strength, individuality  was lost to pools of water, and then gave way to form small rivulets streaming down to the table top. 

The women looked on, in silent fascination, as time  seemingly halted around them.  Nothing marked its passage except the inevitable, the small cubes of ice giving in to the sweltering onslaught.  It was that kind of day,  that kind of hot, where only melting ice could be considered…profound.