An Evening Stroll - A Saturday Centus

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This is my entry for week 162 of Saturday Centus, a challenging literary meme created in the oh-so-fertile mind of Ms. Jenny Matlock at her blog off on my tangent.  

The instructions for this week's assignment are to create a story or poem using a maximum of 106 words including six words of the supplied prompt.  

Sounds so easy doesn't it?  Not so much.  (Especially this week!)  But Jenny and her cast of Centusians make it look that way each and every week.  This week the prompt is "If a June night could talk."  

Seriously?  

Okay, I'll give it a go. 

I would encourage you to do likewise and post your little 106-word masterpieces to Jenny's SC blog post so others can share in your dementia artistic vision.  

Initially I was going to call this post "A Summer's Eve" but decided against it because it sounded too much like a line of a feminine hygiene products. Not that I have a problem with the name, it is just that I don't need the added attention to my humble blog and the emails and comments that would surely ensue.  Instead I have entitled this week's effort:

An Evening Stroll

It was a beautiful summer night for a walk. 

The night air smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine while the brightly lit sky and moon reflected against the shimmering lake. 

Seeking the type of serenity for my world-weary mind that only nature could provide, I stared out over the lake and wondered if a June night could talk what solace could it grant me?  

Then a soft, warm breeze whistled through the tall reeds while the water gently lapped against the shore.  

In the distance I heard the song of a whippoorwill.  

I realized then that the night did talk.  

I just hadn't learned to listen.  

“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”

                                             ― Margaret Chittenden

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