As always I own nothing.
beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.
Diamond
When Herbert Alfred was a small boy, he had been certain that nothing in the world could compare to the sight of Sunday dinner. Sunday meals had to be saved and scrimped for in a house with three boys and only two wage-earners, but his parents made sure that the thought of Sunday dinner could get their boys through a week's worth of bread and cabbage or even mulligan stew.
Then he got a little older and began to work all sorts of odd jobs. Meals became more regular, more substantial, so Sundays became a little less special. Walking around London, he began to take notice of the screevers. And at the age of twelve, suddenly nothing was better than the bright, cheery colors splashed across the sidewalks in beautiful designs.
He grew some more, became a screever. Though he still loved the colors on the sidewalk, it became his work. He became critical of those colors because that was the only way to improve. But one fateful day, a friend happened to invite him up on a roof. And from thereon out, he was smitten with the lights of London, the twinkling as the sun set.
So he added chimney sweep to his repertoire and enjoyed his view. Until one day, a silhouette appeared in the sky—a silhouette that, by all rights, really shouldn't be there. He trailed that silhouette until it comes to rest on a nearby rooftop, revealing that the silhouette was in fact a woman with dark hair and fair skin, a combination that he would kill to put down in chalk. She doesn't see him at first, too busy muttering darkly about shifting winds and shaking an old umbrella to take notice. She had looked up when he approached, introduced herself as Mary Poppins before going back to cursing her umbrella, and from that moment on, he was hooked by the strange woman.
From then on, easily the best sight in the world was that dark silhouette outlined in the sky as Mary Poppins found her way back to London. Whenever she was gone, things seemed slower, less important and beautiful. But everything changed as she approached; London always told him when she was going to return. And Bert was certain that nothing could ever beat the sight of the woman he loved returning home.
But with the passing of years and years, Bert now has found that there is one sight that beats Mary Poppins returning to London. It's the sight of Mary in the morning, still fast asleep, her breathing steady and her face peaceful. Her left hand rests gracefully on the pillow near her face and sunlight streams through the window, throwing off sparkles as it dances in the diamond resting easily there.
Bert wakes up early every morning just to catch a glimpse of that diamond, then wraps his arm around his wife's waist and goes back to sleep with a huge grin on his face.