Semi-Daily Scribbles

Clara looked high and low, in rose gardens and graveyards, for the wisdom to pass up the sure thing. The shiny ring. The well-trod walk down a darkened aisle. Clara excelled at self-censure, and came ever so close to the abandonment of her dreams. Dreams were things Clara's mother packed up with her trousseau. Clara was told by the womenfolk to expect day after day of toil and strife. Two of the best ways to get one's name written down in the good book. Several little inconveniences was all it took, and Clara would sprout her own twig off the family log. She flew away from the assigned perch and left thorny relations to carry on without her. Clara looked high and low, in train stations and tramp steamers, for the life she intended to find.