Responding to a stimulus -story telling

 6 March. Today we were given a new stimulus, a delicate black Victorian parasol. And today, we had to write about it, either a story or a description.   This is below:    Dear diary. I found this parasol in the attic today. In a massive box of nanny's things. Its black as ebony, with a yellowed paper note tied round the handle, the writing almost faded. It read: "To Elsie, with love." I showed it to mum. She said it was one of great-nan Elsie's presents from great-grandad George. And she gave it to nanny when she turned 18, who gave it to mum    when she turned 18. She said I had to wait FOUR years, and Then I'd get it! What I don't get is why nan just left it in that big box of old junk, with bric-a-brac, and a random eclectic variety of things. But this was special. In four years, I'll buy a glass case for  it, and put it up on the wall, somewhere we can see it and think of our ancestry. Maybe I could find some of nan's precious things, and mums, and eventually mine, and fill the case with our familys' special items,  to be kept forever. We can collect things, stuff from our daughters, our daughters' daughters, to become a tradition, continuing in to eternity. And maybe, one day some archaeologist in the year 3000 will dig it up, find out about us, and discover the secrets of over a millenium. We'll be history... Well, our own private family history anyway. All that matters is we'll be remembered by those who matter most, the unborn children of centuries to come, those who'll map out our family tree.

 This week we were given a music stimulus, a piece  by Vaughan Williams called 'The Lark Ascending' that we had to write about. It was only supposed to be notes but in five minutes I wrote this: A bird flies through the sky. Its wings flutter. It is the bird that symbolises life. Sometimes we swoop up high, over mountains, over the sea, in to the clouds of inspiration and joy. We might fly over European lakes, through to Asian mountains, and over the African planes. Sometimes our wings touch the top of the trees, and sample what is there. The fruit of love, seeds of wisdom, the lush green leaves of tranquility. Sometimes a bird  has to spread its wings and fly with confidence. We all take our first wobbly step, in to something new. Friendship, other relationships, a hobby or a goal. Birds get pushed off of cliff faces, by their bigger friends, in hope they'll find confidence. Sometimes we dive  deep in to the water, to find fishes, when we are deep and in despair, looking to find hope. We hide in the reeds looking for new beginnings to spring up. This is life in colour. Good and bad right and wrong, and good and bad times.