Bobby’s Boonies

July 18, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Writing Tags: Boonies, Contentment, Country life, Finding peace, Flash Fiction, Hinterland, Home, Just because, Making do, Micro-fiction, Weekend Writing Prompt 10 Comments

Photo: Nolan Krattinger on Unsplash

He never thought he’d feel that way. But there he was, besotted by life in the hinterland, buoyed by the boondocks.

Who’d have believed the sticks could end up so satisfying? Sure, he gave up the sunny beaches, but while his city pals squeezed onto small spaces on the sand to swelter in the summer sizzle; he could splash right in his backyard stream, in his birthday-suit if desired.

Then there were vegetables from the garden. The birds’ song. The quiet. He had discovered his inner bumpkin.

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Hinterland in 87 words

A Thicker Thread

July 17, 2020July 17, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Things Kids Say, Writing Tags: Beliefs, CCC, Creative writing, Culture, Flash Fiction, Folklore, friends, imagination, Just for fun, Micro-fiction, Photo prompt, Scots Gaelic 21 Comments

cubed-nut CrispinaKemp

“They left it here for a reason.”

Barbra rolled her eyes. There was hardly a thing Robin would not make a story of. “Okay, I’ll play. Who did and what for?”

Robin approached the holed-out structure with something like reverence. The round openings were just large enough for small children to wriggle through and climb and sit on with legs dangling. She had, when young, though she hadn’t seen many playing on it recently. Perhaps it meant the time was nearing.

“The fuamhairean had,” she said. “The giants left it but they will come back.”

“And supposing they exist, what could possibly be their reason to deposit it here?”

Robin sighed. Barbra wasn’t a believer. She wasn’t expected to understand. Still, it was important to explain. “It is a bead for their necklace. Their string tore. They’re waiting for the elves to weave them a thicker thread. It takes years.”

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

* fuamhairean – “giants” in Scots Gaelic

When It Leaves

July 16, 2020July 16, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Things Kids Say, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: Adversity, Beach, children, Creative writing, Evening, Finding a way, Flash Fiction, hope, Making do, Photo prompt, Seeking help, WritePhoto 21 Comments

Photo: Sue Vincent

“What is that thing?”

Melanie squinted against the glare. Shrugged. “A microscope with duck feet.”

Tony frowned. His sister was easily the most annoying person to ever occupy the Earth. Well, after James. James was worse.

The boy stole a look behind him as if expecting James to manifest, even though he knew that the youth was many miles away. You just didn’t know. With James.

Melanie rested her chin on her knees, hummed under her breath, and played imaginary piano with her toes, watching the sand swish around her soles. She was hungry. She wondered what they’ll have for dinner. She lifted her head to glance around. The beach was slowly emptying but it was too early to check the bins.

And anyway, it was Tony’s turn.

She couldn’t keep doing everything for him. He was never gonna learn.

Her stomach growled and she sighed and squinted again at the odd shape on the sand. “Yep,” she pursed her lips. “Definitely a microscope with duck legs.”

Tony made that sound in his throat that she knew meant he was distressed but didn’t want to show it. She ignored him. He had to toughen up.

The quiet between them lingered. It felt stretchy. Like a taught rubber band wound over a finger. Melanie stared. That thing didn’t move.

“It’s an alien,” Tony finally said.

Melanie nodded. Could be.

Tony breathed. “I wonder where the spaceship is.”

“Yeah.” Melanie sat up, suddenly intrigued. “And I wonder when it leaves. You think that if we ask, it would agree to take us with?”

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto

Special Delivery

July 15, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, Creative writing, Delivery, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, good people, Isolation, kindness, Making do, Micro-fiction, Photo prompt, Writing Challenge 54 Comments

Photo prompt: Jean L. Hays

The car honked twice then twice again before the tires crunched on gravel and the vehicle left in a puff of midday dust.

She smiled.

She could always count on Henry.

There was a time when he could ring her bell. When she could offer him a glass of lemonade.

Not now, so close to her transplant date.

She waited a moment before venturing to the gate, and smiled again when she saw he’d taken the card she’d left. She knew he’d made a special trip.

He brought the birthday cake from her daughter, still cold, wrapped in fancy tape.

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Revisiting

July 14, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Childhood memories, Creative writing, dVerse, Memory, Photo, Poetry, Revisiting, school, Transported, Writing prompt 20 Comments

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

She could still hear

The sound of children.

The thunk of balls

Against the chain link fence

Where the big kids

Played.

The smell of dust

From the yard

By the old concrete

Stage.

See the tiny kiosk

Near the gate,

And the ancient seller

Who was always

There.

Feel the coolness of

The main building

As you walked in from

The bottom of the outside

Stairs.

The smell of paint

And cardboard.

The metal-legged

Chairs.

And the hopeful

Cacophony

Of children on recorders

In the music room

Elsewhere.

Oh, she knew that

The yard was empty.

No hubbub actually

Filled the evening

Air.

Still the decades tumbled

As memory bloomed,

Transporting

Now to then

With an unexpected

Flare.

So much has

Stayed

The same,

Even as so much has

Changed

In her.

For the dVerse poetry challenge

Note: This photo was taken last year in my elementary school, which I had occasion to visit one early evening after not seeing the place for decades. It was a magical, if complicated, revisiting.

Due For Blue

July 13, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Bipolar Disorder, Blue, Creative writing, dVerse, Mental Health, Mood, Opposites, Poetry, Quadrille, Realizations, Self-awareness, Transition 36 Comments

Photo: Sean Stratton on Unsplash

She knew

She was due

For some blue.

She felt the tug,

The subtle hue,

Sliding her joy askew.

A clue

For what the next step

Would do.

The polar opposites

That made her into

Two.

Her mood on queue

For an internal coup.

For the dVerse Quadrille challenge: Blue

Note: Dedicated to my friends who walk the tightrope of bipolar disorder. I don’t know what it is like to be you or what you go through, but I see you and hear you. You matter, complete with the ups and downs within you.

Ice Cream Tim

July 12, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: children, Creative writing, Ditty, Finding a way, Ice-Cream, Just for fun, Making do, parenting, RDP, Rhyme, Silly, Writing prompt 14 Comments

Photo: Brendan Church on Unsplash

Tim had a serious thing

For

Ice cream.

No matter the flavor

It was something

He’d favor.

His mama thought it

Extreme

To hold a lone food

Supreme,

So she came up with

A scheme

That worked wonders on

Tim:

Every new food she’d

Mix right into the

Ice cream.

So she fixed it with okra

And kale

And some beans,

And added an olive

And handfuls of

Greens,

And for his dessert

Even mashed in

Sardines.

And the boy ate the lot

Smiling full to the

Brim.

It was not until college

He caught on to the

Theme.

For RDP Sunday: Ice Cream

Cavalier

July 11, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Current events, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Abuse of power, Bad apple, Cavalier, Current events, Gaslighting, Leadership, Narcissism, personality, Poetry, Politics, Reality, Weekend Writing Prompt 27 Comments

Photo: Maria Teneva on Unsplash

He thinks himself a cavalier:

Aristocratic,

Well revered.

In fact he is

Just cavalier:

Disdainful

Petty

Quick to smear.

He thinks himself

A cavalier:

A man whose word all

Must adhere.

In truth he is

Just cavalier:

Dismissive

Hurtful

Full of sneer.

He thinks himself

A cavalier:

Someone for everyone

To cheer.

Yet he is

A racketeer,

And they want him

Out of here.

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Cavalier in 64 words

A Reservoir Of Fate

July 10, 2020July 10, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: CCC, Creative writing, Fate, Flash Fiction, Folklore, Magic, Micro-fiction, Mystery, Photo Fiction, Photo prompt, Possibility 14 Comments

gunton-well CrispinaKemp

Mauve wondered what lay behind the walls. The structure was heavily surrounded by briars, vines, and weeds that would leave welts on anyone who tried to make their way through them. Though many of the plants seemed native to the area, she couldn’t avoid the feeling that their placement and proliferation was intentional.

She saw no opening. The smooth walls were obviously water tight, and the pipe that drained into the small semi-circular pool hinted at some kind of reservoir. But who would build one and leave no means of entry? Why? Why in the forest?

“‘Tis magic water,” Mrs. Ainsley explained that night, wooden spoon stirring pots over the fire.

Was the old woman joking? Mauve couldn’t see her face.

“I would not drink it,” the enigmatic bed-and-breakfast hostess added. “Too potent. But rinse your feet in it if you wish. Been known to change some young folks’ fate.”

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

Soul Archeology

July 9, 2020July 9, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Ancient, Archeology, Creative writing, Flash Fiction, History, Micro-fiction, Photo prompt, Relationships, Self Discovery, spirit, Vulnerability, WritePhoto 20 Comments

Photo: Sue Vincent

They were literally walking on the bones of ancient past.

The bones of actual ancients, too, if you want to be exact about it.

He contemplated telling Liz then decided she was more likely to be spooked than awed by the notion. So he let the soles of his trekking boots crunch wordless greetings with each step, and he set his mind to wonder, radar-style, about the centuries he could not see and so few even knew about, yet lay here for every person to experience. Literally. Through the mounds. These monuments to earlier.

It was an odd thing. History.

Will others one day tread upon the remnants of his, and will any ever stop to wonder about the life he’d lived, the vistas his eyes had feasted on, the memories he’d placed into the air with every exhalation?

If so, what would they think, and how did he feel about the possibility?

Not great, he realized. Especially if those future humans would by then have skills for viewing molecules of thoughts or the equivalent … His mind, unearthed, would be a bit like having archeologists come across a buried midden: plenty of data, but far from being the end one would wish presented for scrutiny.

He shuddered. More from shame than worry.

“These are man-made,” Liz noted from behind. The path was narrow and they could only walk single-file.

He nodded, unsure whether she had misinterpreted his reaction or — as she sometimes could be — was eerily on point.

“I wonder if they had intended for anyone to walk on these,” Liz added.

He stopped. There was something in her voice. A fullness.

He turned to her. Her cheeks were wet. Her eyes were red. How long has she been crying?

Her lips turned up at what she must have seen in his expression. “I’m fine, Shawn,” she breathed. “It is just that there’s a sense of spirit pushing like a memory-foam against my feet …”

His own eyes filled and he shook his head, surprised at the emotion.

“See?”

“I do,” he nodded, reached for her hand.

The fields below them stretched wide and green to the horizon. The air sighed with the scents of grass and rain and years and sun.

“This place,” he braved, “it makes me want to be a better man.”

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto