Spelunking

"I just don't understand the attraction. Why would you travel half way around the world, to a beautiful country, then spend your time underground?" It was clear that my opinion depressed her.

"Because it's beautiful underground too," she said, with a hint of wistfulness and her eyes not quite focussed, as though she was already there. "Besides, it's the largest known cave in the world."

"But underground is just rocks. Nothing but rocks."

"It has the tallest known stalagmites in the world too."

"So they're big rocks."

She huffed at me and brought her focus back to give me a hard stare. "I suppose there's no point in telling you there's an underground river as well?"

I shook my head. I was never going to feel her attraction to caves and caving. It's not that I don't like rocks and rivers. I'm actually fond of limestone country. But I think it's much better in sunshine.

***********

This has been written in response to a challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
It reminded me of a conversation I had several years ago with a college friend who spent a lot of spare time potholing.  Of course, she was only planning to go to Derbyshire, not Vietnam, but the idea is the same.

I'm not sure whether I was supposed to write poetry. But this is what the Muse brought.

A description

If you read yesterday's Thursday Extract you know that I rarely write descriptions of places. 
So I did one for Thinking Ten. 

The housing blocks were arranged in a square; rigid, upright and unforgiving, unbroken by any variation, unsoftened by any landscaping. Just four grey, concrete slabs, like gravestones: their windows etched a forlorn message in some foreign tongue, punctuated by graffiti. At their heart was a scrubby patch of worn-out grass, more khaki than green, surrounded by a sagging fence. Wooden uprights supported metal poles that bent in the centre from years of children's climbing games and teenage loitering. They made the place look like a boxing ring in a deserted gym, its canvas floor scuffed by endless sparring. Only a second floor curtain, the colour of cough medicine, brightened the monotony.

Challenge to include the words: boxing, curtain, cough medicine

OK - I'm in

Well, I'm registered for this year's NaNoWriMo, but I've changed my name from the last two years. You can now find me as MorningAJ. 

Are the rest of you joining in this time?

fff55. Progress

There is no way through. So, having no dynamite, I must chip my slow way, painfully, until I can be free. I can smell fresh air and there are bright lights through the narrow chinks but I am still trapped. Is anyone digging toward me or do I have to make my own escape? Again.

*********

For anyone who has ever had to go through the process of change, either voluntarily or because of circumstances. Keep plugging. There ARE people out there digging towards you.

Go see The G Man for more fff55s.