Roundabout Waiting

November 27, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: 100WordChallenge, Conundrum, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Micro-fiction, Mystery, Photo prompt, Roundabout, Siblings, Waiting 28 Comments

Photo prompt: © C.E. Ayr

“He’s still there.” Morty whispered, his nose to the window.

“What’s he waiting for?” Bella pushed Morty over to make room, pressed her head to his.

“I dunnow.”

“You’re not even allowed to stop for pick-up on roundabouts,” Bella noted.

Morty sighed. Since she’d found a driver’s-ed pamphlet, his twin had turned an insufferable source of traffic trivia. Never mind it’d be a million years before she could drive.

“Should we go ask?” Bella fidgeted.

Morty shook his head. “Dad said wait here.”

“But it’s been eight hours!”

It had. And almost as long since the old man showed up.

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

A Piece of Peace

November 26, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Current events, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: Adversity, Current affairs, Finding peace, fpj-photo-challenge, hope, Making do, Peace, Photo Challenge, Poetry, Reflections, universal 14 Comments

Photo: Amitai Asif

She wanted just

A slice of peace.

A piece of what she’d seen

Available

To others

And advertised as

Something one could

Reach.

She wanted just a taste

Of what it could be like

To know

Release.

Meanwhile she knew

She had to make do

With

Internal

Armistice.

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Peace

Gratitude’s Gate

November 25, 2019November 29, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Poetry, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: adoption, attachment, Childhood trauma, Creative writing, dVerse, Forever, Haibun, Haiku, Home, hope, Poetry, Poetry prompt 26 Comments

: Photo: Aaron Burden on Unsplash

They stand at the entry, grateful, unknown. They’ve come far for this, on a journey not by choice yet still their own. The sound of people’s voices pluck strings in their soul. The light of the fireplace dances on the wall, painting hope, awakening dreams of a home that was never there, yet could be … now … if they allow it in.

Hearts quaking they knock

On the door

To their forever home.

For the dVerse Haibun challenge: Gratitude

Going to Avalanche

November 25, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Avalanche, Emergency, Family, Going home, Hiking, Kreative Kue, Rescue, snow, Survival, Taking charge, Weather, winter 7 Comments

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Photo: Keith Channing

The sky was blue when they headed out. Crisp, cold, dry, and sunny, it was the perfect day for some easy back-country skiing.

They planned to be home by lunch.

They did not plan on the weather turning. On clouds so low and so fast that they’d reached zero visibility in almost no time at all.

Joshua could see that Daniel was two steps away from panic. That would not do. Not with the children with them.

“Take the rear,” Joshua ordered.

If Daniel frowned at his bossy tone, the heavy fog covered it. Joshua stood his ground, literally, till Daniel maneuvered his skis so he was behind the two youngest. Good enough.

Joshua took a breath and tried to get a read from the weather. It was probably best to shelter in place till the fog lifted, but if the weather was about to get worse, it was better they got back before conditions deteriorated further.

There was no way to know for sure, but his gut’s tightening signaled that the latter option was the one to take. His hand tightened around the compass hanging from his pocket. He’d need it.

“Mark! Sally!” he cupped his hands and called for the two older children who, true to form, used any break in skiing for a snowball fight. The wind snatched his voice and he realized that it, too, had gotten worse in the last few minutes.

“Daniel, get them!” he shouted. “Timmy, Ronny, Sid, and Shirley, stay close to me.”

Shirley nodded and clung to his arm. “Are we going to Avalanche?” her voice shook.

“Avalanche isn’t a place, honey,” he replied over the thunder in his chest. “It’s when a lot of snow slides down the mountain. We’re not in an avalanche zone, so you don’t need to worry.”

“But it’s all white,” she sniffled, “and I’m cold.”

“I know, little one. The weather turned on us. We’ll get everyone in line and we’ll get moving and you’ll soon get warm. Timmy, Ron, and Sid, you okay back there?”

The boys nodded unconvincingly.

Daniel herded Mark and Sally closer to the rest and sandwiched them between the younger children and himself.

“Let’s go!” Joshua yelled, his voice barely audible in the whistling wind. “Keep your eyes on the person in front of you. Daniel, use your whistle if you need help.”

Daniel lifted his ski in response.

Joshua concentrated on the compass, on the next few steps. Everything he loved in this world was behind him. The white settled all around and he felt small. Like when he was ten and the world had come down around him in a tumble.

He shook the memory away.

This time he was not going to Avalanche.

He was going to get them — all of them — home.

For Kreative Kue 239

Nervous Nelly

November 24, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Funnies, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Creative writing, Flash Fiction, friends, Just for fun, Micro-fiction, Nervous, Photo prompt, Silly, Sunday Photo Fiction, Writing prompt 10 Comments

Photo: courtesy of DeAnna Gossman

“I’m telling you, Nym. She isn’t coming back.”

“But her drinking vessel is here.”

They both knew that she never strayed too far from it or for too long. There was even some liquid left in it.

Nelly made a doubting sound that gave him an urge to scratch her. Instead, he sniffed and looked again.

And of course the drinking vessel was still there, unemptied. It was the kind designed to not allow them any actual sipping. Not that he’d want to. The stuff that went into it was odoriferous and generally undrinkable. It wasn’t even real blood.

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t lock her drinks that way. It was insulting.

He’d tried to dip and lick once, but the one legged vessel was too tall and wobbly, and it tipped and rolled and fell and broke into small bits of ice that cut his tender flesh when he’d tried to walk on it. If he’d wanted to taste blood there were better ways for it than being reduced to licking his own.

He never got too close to one again.

“Come, Nelly,” he soothed his anxious, clucking friend. “We’ll nap now. I’m sure she’ll return.”

For Sunday Photo Fiction

Upending

November 24, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Writing Tags: Belgium, Beliefs, Disarray, Fantasy, Flash Fiction, Folklore, imagination, Just for fun, Micro-fiction, Reflection, What Pegman Saw 21 Comments

Brugge, Belgium (Photo: Libby Penner on Unsplash)

Some call this city “Venice of the North,” but they don’t know the other direction this town goes, and it is not one of the winds.

I know, because I’ve seen it.

Seen what lies beneath the streets, glazed over by blind eyes of tourists snapping photos, dismissed by those who should know better yet still refuse to view.

For the ones beneath need acknowledgement to manifest. Not trust, recognition.

I know, because I don’t trust them. Not one bit. And yet they are there, plain as anything: The Upenders.

They’ve been here before people, and they expect you pay respects. Their mirage is reflected in the still waters of the canals, and when you let yourself go below the floor, beyond the basement, they’ll reveal themselves. If you won’t visit, beware. For when you least expect, they’ll rise to flip yours over, resentful of a willful ignorance of Upending.

For What Pegman Saw: Belgium

Cold Recalled

November 23, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Meditations, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: City life, cold, Lens-Artists, light, Memory, New York City, No Filter, Photo Challenge, Photography, Poetry, snow 20 Comments

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

I remember

Past winter

Of old,

There was light

Shining warmth

In the cold.

I recall spring’s

Late blanket

White bold,

Under lamps’

Glow of soft

Molten gold.

For the Lens-Artists challenge: Cold

Not Long Enough

November 23, 2019November 23, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Life and love, Memoriam, Muse and Flow, Photography, Poetry, Reflections, Writing Tags: caregiving, Creative writing, Grief, Longevity, Loss, love, Poetry, Relationships, saying goodbye, Weekend Writing Prompt, Writing Challenge 18 Comments

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

“It will be long enough, for a life,”

He said.

She blinked back tears

And said nothing

Because she knew that no matter

How long he would be

Around

Would not be longevity

Enough

For her.

Instead, she patted his hand and

Plumped his pillows

And fussed with the covers

Over his beloved

Form,

Once robust,

Now a shadow of itself.

The shadow smiled.

He understood.

He always had.

At his last inhale, she smiled back.

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Longevity in 76 words

Note: Dedicated to all tender goodbyes. Especially the final kind.

Fortified

November 22, 2019Na'ama Yehuda Anecdotes of Life, Current events, Life and love, Muse and Flow, Reflections, Trauma and Development, Writing Tags: CCC, Creative writing, Flash Fiction, Fortified, Historical fiction, Micro-fiction, Photo Fiction, Resilience, Resistance, Secrets, Shelter, Trauma 10 Comments

They’d fortified the ceiling.

So they said.

The old structure needed periodical reinforcing.

So they said.

The thickness of the walls supported their claims. The deeply recessed windows. The heavy coats of paint on ancient plaster.

‘Twas all a ruse. Of course.

The false ceiling hid a warren of crawl-spaces and narrow hiding places. A stream of escaped slaves was followed by a flood of those fleeing Nazi persecution and thereafter a steady trickle of modern-day refugees.

The ceiling hid them all. Young and old. Broken and defiant. Desperate and bewildered. Men and women and the all-too-heartbreaking child.

Some stayed a night. Others for longer sheltering. Hilda had stayed the longest. A girl on arrival, she was almost a woman at war’s end. She emerged educated. In silence. In stealth. In compassion.

She became the guardian of those who followed.

Fortified with hope of one day needing it no more.

For the Crimson’s Creative Challenge

Note: Dedicated to all the heroes who — often at tremendous risk to themselves — had managed to shelter the needy, the desperate, the voiceless, and the vulnerable during times of injustice, persecution, violence, horror, and hate. To all who do so still. May we one day need to do so no more.