Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor
As chilly nights
Churn cold winds
And unclothed trees
Hold branches
In a yearn
To huddle near,
Cherish the fleeting
Flowing moments
Of memory’s chalices
Filling with cheer,
As a child
Chants a prayer
And gently lights
History’s challenge
To despair
Lack
And fear.
For the dVerse Quadrille Monday challenge: Cheer
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
“Time to go.” Ari shook the ground-cloth.
“One more swim to the breakwater and back!” Deni pleaded.
Ari eyed the sky, the flagpole buckling in the wind, the jellyfish tumbling in the surf. “Another time,” he turned to fold their sun-umbrella.
Behind him he heard Deni’s running steps. He reached for the vinegar. That girl never did listen.
For Sammi’s weekend writing prompt: Breakwater in 58 words
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
In less toured
But more lived-in
Where the city
Does sleep,
Amidst tall
Modern buildings
Walk-up homes
Wrapped in trees.
For the Sunday Stills challenge: in your town
For the Sunday Trees challenge
Photo: Ofir Asif
“They are not welcome here,” the Chief decreed.
His eyes regarded the troop that was his to protect. The land was plentiful, but his soul recalled the stories of Times of Famine, when many had been reduced to skin and bone and many more had died. Legend had it that The Others had brought it on, had taken more than was their share, and angered rain from falling, seeds from growing.
He sensed Bannu’s discontent. Chiefs didn’t have to grant permission for anyone’s opinion. Life showed him, however, that good Chiefs balanced silencing with persuading.
“Bannu?” he grunted.
“What if they return with more of their kind?” The youngster’s sparse ruff bristled apprehension.
The Chief nodded. Foresight was rare. The youth had potential. It also made him someone to watch out for.
“If they challenge us,” the Chief bared teeth and growled an answer and a warning. “We fight.”
Photo: Inbar Asif
I will leave the light on
For you and those still lost.
I will leave the light on
For nights when stars hide most.
I will leave the light on
Even if some say I’m wrong.
I will leave the light on
So you know that you belong.
I will leave the light on
During storms and gale and snow.
I will leave the light on
Just so you see and know.
Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor
An angel had been here
But it is here no more.
All it left is an imprint
Of what could be, before.
Will it come back
To see us?
Will it our wishes grant?
Deep in sparkling snow
I don’t know
If it will
If it can’t.
For the Wits End weekly photo challenge: White on White
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
In the contest for
Bling,
He will certainly
Win.
In the roll call for
Glamour,
He will rise above
Clamor.
In the race for the
Best
He’s the most smartly
Dressed.
As cool temple guards
Go
He’s the top of the
Show.
For the Photo A Week Challenge: Things with wings
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
On the cusp between
The wild
And the
Cultured
Weeds puff heads
Toward incoming
Clouds.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Field
Photo: Dvora Freedman
After the fire
Come the expelled breath
Of sorrow,
The stripped soul
Of Earth,
The charred remains
Of dreams,
And the held breath
Of hope.
For the dVerse challenge: Fire
He didn’t find it yet, but failure was just motivation to keep trying.
People said playing the lottery was folly. Yet some people won that … and laughed all the way to the bank.
He wasn’t going to let those of little faith dissuade him.
Sure, let them think he was into antique oil and kerosene containers. It kept badgering to a minimum and lent him some credibility in scouting flee markets.
No one needs to know that what he’s really after, is an authentic genie lamp.
He’ll find it, and laugh all the way to the bank.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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Na'ama Yehuda 
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