With all the African Tulip trees in bloom, the hillside looked like a huge, undulating birthday cake.

“Beautiful,” she said.  “Just imagine, if there were street lights up there, they’d be candles.  You could make a wish every morning, and blow them out at sunrise.  A daily wish.”

She said, “If you could make a wish every morning, do you think you’d make the same one, or a different one?”

He looked at her.  “I suppose I’d want to see if the wish came true.  If it did, then I’d make a different one the next morning.”

“I might,” she said.  “I might make the same wish every morning, hoping it would come true again.”

She smiled, looked out the window at the hills.  “Somehow I didn’t think of you as the kind of person who believed in making wishes,” she said.

This definitely didn’t feel like a compliment.  He shifted in his seat.  “Do you want to order something to eat?  Maybe just something to drink?”

She looked back at him.  “What wish would you make tomorrow morning?”

He stared at her.  “I, I don’t know.  I’d have to think about that.”

“Yes,” she said.  “Don’t you love spontaneity?”

“Who me?” he asked.

She looked at the birthday cake hills again.  She said.  “Him.”

“What?  Him?  Him who?” he asked, wondering what was wrong with her.

She didn’t answer, put her finger up to the glass.  “I can’t touch them, can’t blow them out when they aren’t there,” she said.  “But I can always make that wish.”

She was an odd person.  Always thinking about things he couldn’t ever guess what.  And she never explained anything you wanted to know about.  She would just go on.

“I think we should order,” he said.

She smiled, placed her hand against the glass.  “Palmers,” she said.


“Palmers,” she said.  “I think I’d like a beer,” she said.  “My wish right now is to get a very, very big beer.”

What a funny woman.

“Did you know today was my birthday?” she said.

“Oh, no, I, you didn’t say anything,” he said.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m a day older.”

“You mean a year.”

“No,” she said.  “We grow older by the day, by the second, really.  The millisecond.  Even smaller.  The big tumbler flips on your birthday.  That’s why we say it’s a year.”

She looked out the window.  “When you die, you never get older anymore.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t you think that’s a lovely thing?”

Such a strange woman.  He didn’t ever feel comfortable with her, really.  Maybe this should be the last time he saw her.

“On second thought,” she said, “Do you think you could take me home?”

“Yes, I do,” he said.  Suddenly this whole thing seemed like a bad idea.  It was probably best to drop her off and move on.

* * * * *

Happy #WriterThursday : ) Today’s writing prompt is


Use the “WritingPrompt to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece below. I’d love to read it : )

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