Night Camp

September 14, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Caravan, Contentment, Creative writing, Desert, dVerse, Evening, Flash Fiction, Meditation, Micro-fiction, Moon, Night sky, Prosery 29 Comments

During the days there was glare and heat and baking sand and the parched tongue hoping for good water.

But at night, when they made camp, and the chill spooled at their feet and the camels chewed their cud and the humans picked the last crumbs of quick bread off their lap and the blankets were unrolled and small sounds of conversation carried on the breeze; there was ease, and sweetened tea, and the slowing beats of hearts ready for sleep.

And the sky, a dome of diamonds, flowing over them, the old and young and man and beast, as in their dreams they sleep with the moon and swim in the waters soon to ripple under the sun to the east.

Prosery prompt: “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”–From Mary Oliver, “Death at Wind River”

For dVerse Prosery challenge

A Silver Light

September 3, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Blue, Dream, Imagery, light, Meditation, Ocean, Poetry, Silver, WritePhoto, Writing prompt 25 Comments

A silver light,

In blue

It was.

A glimmer on

Still

Water.

A place of dream

Of home

It was.

A hope for

Time’s lost

Daughter.

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto

Endless Flicker

August 29, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Memoriam, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Anniversary, Candle, Endless, friendship, In memoriam, Kathryn, light, Loss, Memory, Poetry, Revisiting, Weekend Writing Prompt 35 Comments

Photo by Paolo Nicolello on Unsplash

Candle lighting

The edge

Of the world

And the margins

Of time

To the endless

Flicker

Of loss.

[For Kathryn: you became light eight years ago today. We all loved you. We all love you more.]

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Endless in 18 words

Where She Lies

August 28, 2020August 28, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Beach, Creative writing, cycle of life, Imagery, Lies, life, listening, Nature, Oceanside, Poetry, RDP, Rest 11 Comments

Photo: Andrew Buchanan on Unsplash

Where the green grass ends

And the ocean grows

Is where she lies

And listens

To the crabs

As they crawl

And the fish

As they flutter

And the wind

As it lifts the

Wings of

Sandpipers

And spins

Seashells

On the sand.

For RDP Friday: Lies

(and for Kathryn, in my mind’s eye)

Their Bag End

August 17, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Creative writing, dVerse, End, Fate, Flash Fiction, life-path, Micro-fiction, Poetry prompt, Prosery, The Hobbit, time, Writing Challenge 29 Comments

Photo: Tyler Lastovich on Unsplash

They never did make it back from their destination. Not for lack of trying. Not for lack of plans. Not even for lack of courage or stamina or all the things that make a journey circular. There and back again. Like Bilbo Baggins looking for an adventure and finding more than he had bargained for (or perhaps precisely what he needed); they, too, found more along the way than they had intended.

The path slowed everything. Time turned to stone.

And when it was over, said and done, it was a time and there was never enough of it.

They took too long.

So much that life passed by before it could lead them back to where they had come from.

Perhaps where they ended was precisely where they needed to go.

Only that unlike Bilbo, they did not return to their Bag End.

(Prompt: from “A Time” by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke)

For the dVerse Prosery Challenge: A Time

By Design

July 26, 2020July 26, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Current events, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections Tags: Being Human, Bigger plan, Creative writing, Design, kindness, Life Lessons, Meditation, Poetry, RDP, Sunday Stills, Understanding, Writing prompt 27 Comments

Photo by Aditya Wardhana on Unsplash

Perhaps it is, really,

By design

Where we are born

And how we live

And how and when and why

We die.

Perhaps it is

By fate,

That we can love

And we can laugh

And dream

And struggle to let go

Of hate.

Perhaps we’re each

A stitch

In the tapestry

Of an overarching

Plan,

(That we do

Or do not

Understand).

Yet still the truth

Remains,

That our strength is

Bound to fail at

The weakest

Thread.

And that we each have a

Part in

Whether we

Mend

Or shred

The possibilities

Ahead.

For RDP Sunday: Design

And just for fun, also for Terri’s Sunday Stills: Yellow

Red Moon Riding

July 20, 2020July 20, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Carl Sandburg, Creative writing, dVerse, Flash Fiction, Jazz Fantasia, Longing, Memory, Micro-fiction, Night sky, Prosery, Quote, Relationships, Vista 21 Comments

Photo: Niklas Priddat on Unsplash

She let the shudder travel from the roots of her hair to the nape of her neck and down her spine to the place where the calving of her body started. The skin on the small of her back awoke. She sighed.

It wasn’t the chill in the air that had her trembling, even though the breeze could explain the raised goosebumps on her skin. It was the vista that had shaken her. And the memories it sought.

Oh, this was a different place. A different time. Yet somehow these still were the same sky where a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills spreading below it. Transporting her. The earth roiled under a tapestry of dark and starlight, of shade and voids and hidden stars. Her breath drowned in wonder and sorrow: for lost beginnings, for hopes come dawn.

Prosery Prompt: “a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills” (Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia)

For the dVerse Prosery 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

Perfectly Aligned

July 4, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: Aligned, Beautiful world, Breathing Space, Creative writing, hope, Insight, Just because, Meditation, Poetry, Syzygy, Vocabulary, Weekend Writing Prompt 29 Comments

ishan-seefromthesky-2d7n2sfYjHY-unsplash

Photo: Ishan @seefromthesky on Unsplash

When the light

Aligns just right

And the ebb and flow

Combine

To sheer insight,

She breathes in

To allow

The soul expanding

Syzygy

Of hope and

Love and

Heart.

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Syzygy in 30 words

The Longest Walk

July 2, 2020July 2, 2020Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Creative writing, Flash Fiction, Meditation, Moment in time, Morning, Mothering, Pause, Photo prompt, Poetry, self-care, Take a moment, WritePhoto 25 Comments

Photo: Sue Vincent

She rose with the sun, her brow still damp with the essence of dream. Soon enough her feet were, too, from dew and from the small drops of silence that mornings bring.

There was little to say, and much space to accompany.

It was a good day.

It had to be.

There will be time much later on, for all the things she might still need, and all the words she may still say, and all the sorrows she no longer wished to borrow.

In the meanwhile, she walked on, crushing dandelions, breathing lavender.

The fields stretched ahead as the disc of light leaned hot against the sky. The air shimmered, dancing in the sun.

Or wavering.

It would not matter, in the long run.

She walked on.

Eventually she’d have to turn around, retrace her steps, return into the pace of tending, bending, sending, lending, fending.

And it would still be a good day.

For the dawn poured the generous morn into her, washing her, filling her, scenting her soul. Step by breath by step by breath, immersed into the longest walk her present moment could recall.

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto