It’s The Tropics

May 29, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Just for fun, Micro-fiction, Mystery, Palm trees, Relationships, Sunburn, vacation 36 Comments

Photo prompt © Susan Eames

“How long has he been sitting there?”

Brody shrugged. “Was there when I got here.”

Linda glanced at her husband’s torso. Brody had two hues: pasty-white or lobster-red, and it took him about an hour to transform from one to the other. He was reaching lobster status. At least an hour, then.

“What’s he doing?”

Brody scratched under his shades, and Linda noted to herself that his face was following his chest’s example. “On the phone?”

“Put your shirt on, Captain Obvious. But why there? Is he watching for something?”

“It’s the tropics, Dear. Pirates, runaway coconuts, or tsunamis.”

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictoneers

Best Foot Forward

May 28, 2019November 12, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: being yourself, CFFC, Courage, Feet, Finding your way, inspiration, Life Lessons, Photo Challenge, Poetry, Writing prompt 17 Comments

Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor

Put you best foot

Forward,

No matter what your size

Or tread.

Put your best foot

Forward,

Let no one fill your soul

With dread.

Put your best foot

Forward,

And follow both your heart

And head.

Put your best foot

Forward,

So you can find your path

Ahead.

For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Feet or legs

In The Elements

May 27, 2019November 12, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Camping, Counting blessings, Earth, Elements, Fire, Lens-Artists, Meditation, Night, Photo Challenge, Poetry, Sustenance, Wood 22 Comments

Photo: Amitai Asif

Blessed be the heat

Of fire

Fed by wood

That held on

To the driven strength of home.

Let air

Breathe through

The flames

That will allow warmth

To the water

While the earth

Hammocks your body

And your eyes

Address heaven’s stairs.

For the Lens-Artists Photo Challenge: Five Elements

Homecoming

May 26, 2019November 12, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Aerial, Flight, Going home, JFK, Micro Poetry, New York City, One Word Sunday, Photo Challenge, Photography, Poetry, travel, Welcome 23 Comments

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

As you descend toward the shore

You see

The water

Lapping

At the edges

Of what will

In a moment be

The touchdown to your welcome home.

Note: This photo was taken last month, on a cellphone, from behind the thick windows of a Boeing 787 on approach to JFK (shadow of the aircraft on the water).

For Travel With Intent’s One Word Sunday: Aerial

Not Blueberries

May 26, 2019May 26, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Photography, Reflections, Things Kids Say, Writing Tags: Danger, Flash Fiction, Foraging, Forest, Keeping children safe, Micro-fiction, parenting, Photo Challenge, Picnic, Raising Children, Sunday Stills, Things Kids Say 18 Comments

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

“Look, Mama,” the child called, a soft fist held aloft as she ran, delighted, toward her mother. “I found some polka-dot blueberries!”

“Wait, where? Let me see? Those aren’t … Did you eat any?”

The child shrugged and twirled away, fingers closing protectively over a grimy palm that still held some blue orbs of what-mama-said-are-not-really-blueberries.

“Wait! Get back here. I need to see those again … Are you sure you didn’t eat any? They could make you very sick! And …” the woman looked around their deserted picnic blanket. “Where is your brother..? Where’s Eric!?”

“Oh,” the little girl pranced out of reach, and gestured vaguely in the direction of the trees beyond the forest clearing. “There. He found polka-dot strawberry mushrooms!”

Note: Inspired by a true story of a family I know, whose summer picnic ended up with a call to Poison Control, an ambulance, and two children in the Emergency Department. One child was fine. The second child eventually got better. Mama still can’t touch berries or mushrooms. Teach your children about the dangers of foraging and instruct them to not pick or eat (!!) any plant they don’t show you FIRST. …

For Terri’s Sunday Stills: Danger

Repeat Construction

May 25, 2019November 12, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Things Kids Say, Writing Tags: Building, children, Construction, Determination, Friday Foto Fun, parenting, Photo Challenge, play, Poetry, Repetition, Rhyme, Things Kids Say 8 Comments

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

Look, Mama! Look at this!

Can you believe how high?!

I did the whole thing by myself

And I will tell you why:

It is the tallest building king

That ever touched the sky,

And I will build it up again

Each time someone walks by.

For Friday Foto Fun: Construction

Homespun

May 25, 2019May 25, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: adoption, Family, Flash Fiction, Foster Care, Holding on, Home, Micro-fiction, Relationships, Spin, Trust, Weekend Writing Prompt, Writing Challenge 15 Comments

astronomy background constellation cosmic

Photo: Pixabay on Pexels.com

“Can’t say I’ve known all along,” he said.

She snuggled deep into his lap, safe under the quilt, warmed by his heartbeat, listening to the song of the stars as they marched across the canopy of the world.

A different sky. This was.

The other half of life, perhaps. Better, even, now that she found home.

She, too, hadn’t known. Rotation, yes, but only as rounds of emptied hope.

Though her soul perhaps did know. It must have seen the edge of the world spin, and held on, to keep her whole.

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Spin in 92 words

First Day Out

May 24, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: Courage, Creative writing, Flash Fiction, healing, Micro-fiction, New Beginnings, Patience, Recovery, Rehabilitation, WritePhoto, Writing Challenge, Writing prompt 29 Comments

transition

Photo: Sue Vincent

It’s been a long time since she was able to hold her head up.

She knew every crack in the ceiling. Every shade of light on the walls. Every spider web.

They kept the latter undisturbed.

“Let them be,” she’d asked when the housekeeper had come in one day, armed with an upended broom. The matronly women had frowned only to have understanding effuse her face with something between pity and compassion.

“You keep ’em company, then,” the housekeeper had said.

She’d cried a little after the woman had left the room, tears accumulating small pools in her ears. In them was the relief for the small thing she could still control to protect, and the hollowing despair for how much of it she’d lost, that she begs company of arachnids.

Months passed since.

The webs accumulated. Elaborated.

The seasons changed.

She watched the spiders, and found her own cobweb to hang on to and get stronger.

She learned how to control a torso that would no longer answer to her command. She found ways to manage the awful dizziness of gravity. She made peace with her chair and its straps as her adopted exoskeleton.

And she was strong enough, finally. To hold her head up.

A gentle sun licked the edge of the gate. The mostly overcast sky offered her pallid indoor skin a needed measure of protection. A glint danced on the fence’s wall and she practically felt it.

As tender and tenacious as a spider web strand.

“I’m ready,” she smiled. “For my first day out.”

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto prompt

Rosie Rhymes

May 24, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: Creative writing, Denial, Flash Fiction, Nursery Rhyme, Posttraumatic Stress, Resistance, Short Story, SoCS, Tragedy, Trauma, Writing Challenge, Writing prompt 37 Comments

Kate Greenway, Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes 1881

“Ring-a-ring-a-roses; A pocket full of posies; Hush-hush, Hush-hush; We’re all tumbled down!”

“She can play like this for hours,” Mary sighed.

Alice gazed at the child, who with arms spread wide to the sides, continued to spin about the garden’s green, dipping a curtsy at the final line before going back again to the first. Her pitch was perfect and her voice was sweet, but the bouncy ringlets and pinafore over a knee-high calico dress only highlighted the oddity.

It was adorable when Rosie was six years old. The girl was nearly thirteen.

“How’s Rosie’s schooling coming along?” Alice tried.

Mary’s smile faltered for a second before a placid screen unfurled over her face. “Just fine,” she breathed. “It’s coming along just fine, dear. Did you try the rose-petal marmalade? Mrs. Hannah outdid herself this year.”

It is like watching a wind-up toy, Alice thought. She never could get her sister to speak candidly about the child. None of them could. They all knew much was wrong, yet it was nigh impossible to discuss it. There’d been some concerns before the accident, of course, though Rosie had been very young then and much was explained away as the idiosyncrasies of an only child with an active imagination.

Then the accident happened and it was as if Mary had stopped the clock. On her own life as well as Rosie’s. The child seemed content enough, delayed and mostly mute outside of singing as she was. But how much did any of them know about the child’s true reality and potential, and how much was her mother’s doing, impeding her growth?

“Ring-a-ring-a-roses …”

Rosie’s singing rang in Alice’s ears and suddenly she could not stand it any longer.

“Mary,” she pressed, “I know this expert …”

Her sister raised a delicate hand. “We have all we need, Alice.”

Alice shook her head. “No, you don’t. I love you, and I know you love Rosie dearly, but she’ll be a woman soon … and she can’t stay six forever. Let me get the both of you some help. It’s not about trying to force her to do what she cannot, if she cannot … I mean, I know she’s a little …” her sister’s eyes stopped her. Brittle. Angry. Warning.

“… I … I can see she seems happy,” Alice inhaled and paused, hoping for a relenting crack in her sister’s eyes.

There was none.

“Indeed she is happy,” Mary clipped. “And we shall keep it this way, shall we?” She turned her head a tad, so that her eyes rested partially on the closed wing of the manor where the stone would forever be a bit dark, and partially on the child she’d frozen in time. The sweet girl who did not need to know more than what she’d known the day before she had tipped a candle onto paper and accidentally, fatally, set fire to her father’s study. “Now, about that marmalade!”

For the SoCS prompt: Rhymes with rosy