Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com
How will I know
The taste of freedom
If I am locked
Inside a cage?
How will I find
A true horizon
When I am of
Tender age?
Where will my parents be
Tomorrow?
Will army men
Lock them away?
How will I know
If I will get to see them
Once again
One day?
Photo: Adi Rozen-Zvi
This is no macro shot
Of a small spider
Up close,
But a photo of one
That is bigger than most.
Sized to barely fit
In the palm of a man,
It clung to a web
That could use
A steadier hand.
For the Lens-Artists Challenge: Big
Trivia: Giant Golden Orb Weavers (Nephilia Pilipes) are named for the way their intricate webs shimmer in the light. Females can grow to 20 centimeters (8 inches!!) in size and have a long slim, black body with golden spots on their back, and long skinny legs (the males are about 10 times smaller, sorry guys). Female Giant Golden Orb Weavers can build gigantic webs that can span 2 meters (6-7 feet!!) across, often between large trees, where they can be seen resting on their webs and protecting their territory (yep, that’s exactly what the photo we took above depicts). They bite their prey to immobilize it, and though their bite is not dangerous to humans, if you do get bitten by one of these mega-spiders, I cannot guarantee that you will not have LOTR-style nightmares of massive arachnids coming to get you.
They always met in the park. There were spirits there, too, of course: The drowned. The lost. The desperate. The abandoned young. However, these tended to be the milder spirits, mellowed by moss and rain and the freedom to roam on whispery winds. House spirits were harsher, meaner, and angrier. They carried histories of rape and whippings and the smaller everyday murders that chip at a soul until there is nothing left but agony and bitterness.
It was better to meet in the park, on a bridge between this world and the other, chiseled by masons, anchored by time.
She lowered herself onto the top stair and waited. She’d hear him come, but she would not turn. He did not bear to be looked upon.
“I will take him across,” he’d said when they last met. And he had. It was a gentle death.
Now it was her mother’s time.
For What Pegman Saw
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Atop a daisy’s crown
Of petaled
White
A bee hovers
Set to hold
The pollen sought
Like precious
Gold.
Photo: Inbar Asif
Decades shut
Behind closed shores
What old stories
Had you told
Of not so distant
Wars?
Weathered by
Time and lore
What future resides
Behind Cuba’s
Sealed doors?
For the Weekly Photo Challenge: Door closes
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
From shade onto sunlight
From old bricks
To plastered walls,
She gazed out
To the terrace
And a horizon
Pregnant with
Potential
Rainfall.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge
Photo: R. Rozen-Zvi
The soft brown curls
Sweetly turned back
Away from images
She’ll track
As she grows older
And discovers
Mirrored reflections
Of her self
And others.
For the Photo a Week Challenge: Through glass
Photo: Philip Coons
It’s a one stop
Shop
For brooms
And brushes,
Guaranteed to
Save you any
Crashes.
Fit for any
Odd size
Witch,
Come right in
The selection is
Rich.
For Kammie’s Oddball Challenge
Her heart fluttered in her chest. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans and tugged her cap lower on her head to manage jitters and glare.
She’d worked on this all summer. In secret. His birthday surprise.
She moved closer to the building, automatically scanning the terrain even though she knew it like the back of her hand.
There he was, waiting.
“Hi Dad!”
His face lit up and he and turned toward the elevator. “I’ll call it for you.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” she grinned and pushed up from the wheelchair. “Just give me your arm. I can walk up.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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