Photo: Boris Smokrovic via Unsplash
She clung to the flower and whispered, awe shuddering through with each beat:
“I didn’t even know to imagine how it would feel to stretch wings,
to sense the blood pumping through to the tips, edges fluttering free with the wind.”
Photo: Priscilla du Preez via Unsplash
They did not need a rink when the lake made one for them. They did not have a coach but their skates learned to guide them. They were one with the ice as the pucks flew around them. They played in the cold while the old mountain charmed them.
Never mind the mildew and dirt, the echoes in corridors of sad stories they knew.
There’ll be roof over heads and a shelter for those who lost all yet pulled through.
We will clean it all up. Make a home for these kids. It’ll do.
For Three Line Tales, Week 137
She would learn everything about it, she promised herself, and details will no longer catch her unaware. The books soldiered on, and she with them. By closing-time she was educated and heartbroken: She knew what it was. She knew it was incurable.
For Three Line Tales, week 135
Photo by Prince Akachi via Unsplash
“Come.” She said. She pulled him up and dried his face with the edge of her best dress.
“Where?” He hiccupped, too spent for sobs. Everything hurt.
“Away.” Her voice was soft but hard. “We’ll be miles from here by the time he wakes up.”
For Three Line Tales, Week 131
He’d always been her golden child, born after years of sorrow.
He’d always been her precious jewel, the promise of tomorrow.
He’s gone to take the saffron robes, been hers only to borrow.
tltweek98
“You are too late,” Sea lion said to Polar bear, “the ice is gone, the fish moved on.”
Polar bear’s heart sank but he stretched a smile over the hunger pangs.
“I know,” he managed. “Berries are moving in. Good thing I’ve gone vegetarian.”
Photo: Tobias Keller via Unsplash
As they rode through the smoke, through the night, to the light
Amidst trees, atop hooves, in the saddle upright
Sun kissed heads, offered heart, till homecoming delight.
Photo: Scott Umstattd via Unsplash
The house snored and stomachs sighed content
But pots and pans and ladle, towel, bowl and plate
Slept not a wink awaiting dawn inside the kitchen sink …
tltweek93
She faced the sea’s relentless roil, the churning, fuming foam.
She found a quiet in the space
Between the breath of waves, a home.
For Three Line Tales
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