Write to This:

Today, writers wrote to this image. The idea was that this image was so close up that the object itself was almost unidentifiable. Writers could describe what they believed this object to be, use elements from the picture to aid, challenge or inspire their writing. This is a piece, by one of toda's writers, that resulted from the 7 minutes of writing:

As a man accustomed to sunsets, raising children in Flora, Indiana is hard. Sunsets over the water fill one up like a bay: whole of water swollen color until you can't breath with looking at so much red. Sunsets over the cornfields and trees are non-existent. Days simply end. They don't fade, dissipate, release with a gust. It was simply day and now it is not. So I take my children to see the sunrise. Where the transparent ghost of the earth rises to meet the sky in a light-fog. We drive out of Flora, the boys bundled up in ther bootie pajamas, holding their blankets to their chins. I love to watch how they look out the window as the sun eases into the sky and the fog absorbs our car like we are nothing but this. How they hold their brothers hands the way I clung to my mothers elbow when I saw the sunset bleed into the Atlantic for the first time.