Monday, March 05, 2012

One minute writer: Texture

Woollen weave in your jacket and your hat, always a hat. Comfort and warmth that protected me when I was young. Close my eyes and the touch of tweed can still conjure a smell of outdoors and green and freshly dug earth and dogs and oil paint and pipe tobacco and soft Yorkshire air.

I still miss my dad. 
For One Minute Writer


Sandra Davies said...

Coincidentally I saw a thirty-ish bloke in a tweed jacket at the weekend - blue and grey, black and maybe a bit of white, matching grey jumper and denim jeans - looked so good I thought I ought to think about getting one for me ...

Hilary Melton-Butcher said...

Hi Anne .. for someone who cannot bear wool .. but I can understand the texture. Those memory smells - are just wonderful .. reminding us of days gone by .. I'm sure you miss your Dad a great deal .. don't we all.

Cheers and have a good week .. Hilary

Stew said...

Your description of the woolen jacket and freshly dug earth, takes my mind to each afternoon as I stand watching another grave closing. So peaceful.