The Daily Post writing prompt: Set a timer for ten minutes. Open a new post. Start the timer, and start writing. When the timer goes off, publish.
The window is covered in a swatch of gold, brown, tan and black. It provides both protection from and a view to the world beyond. The walls are painted muted beige that blends in coolly into the caramel chocolate of the institutional carpet beneath my feet. More calendars wrestle for space with a mirror, posed shots of mother and child, a white board filled with reminders and deadlines and phone numbers and deadlines.
The desk is forged from pressed wood and lacquered an oak brown. The edges and sides are nicked from years of use, though the foundation stands solid and secure. There are glimpses of a polished surface which is largely obscured by the laptop computer, stacks of reports in progress, pens and calendars. The tape dispenser, stapler, pen holder and speakers fight for the remaining available space.
The filled to capacity bookshelf is nearly overwhelmed by reference material, sentimental knick-knacks collected from friends, co-workers and loved ones. My son’s kindergarten homage to his grandfather is proudly displayed on the top internal shelf.
A half used Yankee candle clings to the edge of my desk, while a discarded paperback copy of Jim Butcher’s Grave Peril leans against the wall, it’s yellowed edges called out for attention. My son’s image smiles shyly at me from the far left corner of the desk. Far enough away so as not to be knocked over in my search for some document but always within arms reach.