Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Up steep stairs
Of old, new places
He is reaching up
Hand over hand.
Bravely mastering
The gaps that make it,
Way too frightening
To stand.
Up he goes,
A little hero,
Climbing life’s thrilling
Demand.
In his moment of
Adventure,
Oblivious
To just how well we
Understand.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Steep
She leaned back, took a long look around, and sighed in satisfaction.
He’d love it. She was sure he would.
It took three full weeks and dozens of hours, but now every piece of paper he’d ever owned was alphabetized and catalogued. The photos organized by color, location, and main character. The receipts tagged and ranked by preference: favorite things first, the things he’d never order again, last.
He was due home by nightfall. She could only imagine his delight.
The office was transformed. So was the garage. She even organized the nets and oar for an artistic touch. Bronzed all his mementos so they matched.
No more desk and drawers. No more folders. No more boxes with a mishmash of photos and cards. Goodbye to letters stacked together by arbitrary designations of correspondence, when they could be more logically sorted by zip code (or when there was none noted, ordered alphabetically by addressee’s given name and divided by paper-type).
It had been a Herculean task, but she was undaunted. Who but her would take it on to help him out?
She couldn’t wait to show him how she’d got him all caught up.
Photo: Inbar Asif
He did not know how to play
But they knew he’d be
Okay.
He was scared of every thing
But they knew that he was
King.
He had to learn life from scratch
But they knew they’d love him
Much.
He’s the sweetest boy there is
Even unsure how to
Please.
And whether he’s a bit autistic
His kind of love is
Simplistic.
He is now a happy boy
Who gets his life to
Enjoy.
For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Pets
Sudan, Khartoum (Photo: Amma Hareib on Pixabay)
Uduro held her head high, the wrapped money tucked securely in a fold of her clothing. Only a small amount was in the beaded purse. No need to give pickpockets reason to try and outsmart her. She knew better than most.
The market’s alleys welcomed her, coolly shaded under the roof. The dimmer light was soothing. She inhaled, sated. Shoes. Spices. Food. Clothing. Utensils. Leather goods. Whatever she needed could be hers. She walked slowly as befitting her status, her back straight with pride.
She was back.
No longer the barefooted street urchin, begging for leftovers, scurrying from grabby hands while carrying favors for a scrap and a slap.
She was now the wife of a man who owned three stalls on the Souk’s main road. And a whole house. She was the mother of a boy who was never hungry. Umm Faheem, they called her now, in Uduro’s Sudan.
For the What Pegman Saw challenge: Sudan
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Too soon the colors
Blazing on the trees
And paths
And drains
And roofs of cars
Would calm,
And ground
And street
And city parks
Will match the clouds in
Moody monochrome.
For the Lens-Artists challenge: Monochrome
Photo: Rosalind Chang on Unsplash
It was a thing they would not utter. Ineffable. In their home, at least.
So much that it baffled them to see how others in their own homes — and often without a moment’s hesitation — did.
To them it felt impossible. Dangerous … though they wouldn’t dream admitting fear or conflict.
Those, too, were taboo. As was to contradict.
Their parents’ word was law. Speak “No”, and you would certainly be whipped.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: ineffable in 70 words
Photo: João Silas on Unsplash
They never expected it to turn out as it had.
Sure, they hoped their hard work would bear fruit. Of course they put all they had into it. They needed sustenance, which — without gold or title or power or support or skill — meant they had to find a way to raise it.
Through thick and thin and cold and rain and mud and sun.
Some of it with bare hands. Some literally blindly, given their bad eyes.
They did what they felt they had to do. They just never expected to manage quite so well.
Not when all they’d ever been told was how unworthy and incompetent and incapable they were. A burden on others. Unproductive mouths to feed.
They’d soonest have believed they’d amount to nothing than that they’d amount to so much. Or have such plenty.
Enough to get through the winter and the early spring. Enough for next year’s planting. Enough even to give.
They had the biggest yield anyone had seen in years.
They never expected it to turn out as it had.
To have so much to eat, to be able to be those who feed.
It had to be the fairies, dusting magic onto their field.
For the Word of the Day Challenge: Yield
Photo: Herrmann Stamm on Unsplash
He does not like the new way the kitchen’s been done.
He does not like the curtains she’d chosen.
He cares naught for the way she turned the couch around
Or how she leaves the garage door open.
He will never get used to the stuff on her nails.
He detests hosting all of those book clubs.
He’s did not want his Foosball exiled downstairs
Or pink bottles to take over the bathtub.
Some days he thinks it had been better before
She showed up to give life a stir,
But she does make him laugh and he cannot ignore
The fact that he’s just nuts about her.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS prompt: Nuts
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