Marie Smysor Watson
obtuse - 100 words
Thanks be to my father, Dennis, for this week's word... and for helping me to see the world this way!
Acute, right, obtuse, reflex. Mark saw the world of his farm in angles and he repeated this mantra, a prayer.
A pole outstretched over a still pond, acute. New fence, right. Ancient barn, one side acute, the other side, obtuse. Reflex angles were harder, found mostly in broken things. A branch caved to an ice storm, reflex. A door angrily forced against its hinges, reflex.
You’re obtuse, his then-wife hissed, a snake without definition. He smiled, taking it as the compliment it wasn’t. Obtuse angles open wide, Mark knew, receiving the world as it was meant, not as it seemed.