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writers & readers, welcome!

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writers, care to join me in a writing warm up about today's photo prompt?  click on comments below to share your short story, poem or creative non-fiction piece.

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Kyra fiddled with the backing of the glossy bow, struggling to peel it back despite the fact that she had no fingernails (chewed to the quick). She'd turn forty next week, New Year's eve. She marveled at the fact that, twenty-five years later, she couldn't wrap a gift without thinking of that one Christmas, when her true love showered her with a gift every day. Not partridges or pear trees, mind you, but mixed tapes and simple trinkets fraught with meaning. And on Christmas day, her first ring (which she would, sometime in college - when the drama of their relationship had wended its way to a peak - mail it back to him in an envelope stuffed with poetry and dreams and recriminations and ultimatums).  Then it all had fizzled and dispersed like the smoke after fireworks. At the time of the great gifting she thought that every boy was so sweet, that every boy would shower her with gifts and compliments and undying love. She chuckled now. That hadn't been the case. Not in the least. But life had brought her so many good gifts, simple and complicated, each one fraught with meaning.