Our lawn is too sour. No grass grows. Only moss. Therefore mother bought bags upon bags of lime to spread across the premises, which I did. I felt like I was sprinkling powdered sugar everywhere. Now that we have added lime to the earth, my mother says she will kill the moss next spring, though I am not allowed to disclose how. It's a rather secretive business.
A lemon biscuit after hard work is never wrong.
And now I am at home, sitting on my bed and knowing I really should write five hundred words on my story. I am excited about its possibilities, though I never know how it will come together until it does. Stories never turn out the way I want them, and for that I'm grateful. They always wander where they will and bring me along for the ride. Here is a bit, though it will be subjected to numerous edits in the future:
Now they stood on the steps, and Mr. Sleed the valet came running from somewhere in the darkened recesses of the building, tugging at his gloves. He arrived, less kempt that he would wish, at the bottom of the stairs and tried to catch his breath while offering deep apologies for his absence.Mr. Shears sniffed. “Mr. Sleed. Glad you found the time to join us. This is Mr. Edmund.”“Mr. Edmund?” Mr. Sleed was puzzled by the new arrival, but put a hand over his heart and bowed, wrestling with the urge to question. He was a man of impeccable posture and great height, who took pains at his job. But he had not been informed of this guest. He had not prepared a meal. He had not turned down an extra bed. He had made no preparations whatsoever and was feeling, quite simply, inadequate. He gritted his teeth. “Pleased to meet you.”