General

The spoon was a blessed aged silver, its artistic touches rendered all the warmer by the deepening black.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.
General

In her hand was a metal spoon, the sort you'd find in any London town corner cafe, casually being warmed by those most delicate of fingers.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.
General

A spoon once destined for the high ballroom tables of Europe was quite at home in our humble cottage; at our quiet breakfast, made all the more beautiful by playful jazz, it belonged more in her hand that in any since its making.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.
General

A cold spoon upon a cold table plainly be asks for both warm both and the cradling of gentle fingers.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.
General

The spoon cradled the soup her mama made, that sweet earthly broth born in the green and giving fields.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.
General

The spoon was a bold silver in his soft dark palm, as sweet as the full moon in any warm summer night.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.
General

The spoon had opening foliage at the top, delicately fashioned, then after a slender stalk it opened out to a spoon that brought primrose petals to my wandering daydreams.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 29, 2019.