Cleaning Up

lighted matchstick on brown wooden surface

Photo Sebastian Sørensen on Pexels.com

 

No amount of soap and water could clean up this mess.

Even if I were to try, I wasn’t quite sure how I’d go about it, or if the effort was worth the results. Perhaps it’d be better to burn the whole thing to the ground and start from scratch.

I eyed the matches on the stove and looked at what I could no longer justify keeping around.

I wouldn’t miss most of it. Or so I had to hope.

My fingers struck a match and I held the small flame to the ring, amazed as always by how easily it grabbed hold and circled to make a blue-yellow-purple circuit of heat.

The fire leapt and danced and hissed.

I sighed.

It was time to wave good-bye. I needed a fresh beginning.

I set the kettle on to boil, sat back down, and hit “Delete.”

 

 

 

For Linda’s SoCS writing prompt: Clean/Dirty

 

 

Lead Recycler

 

recycle AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

As soon as I saw this week’s photo challenge, I knew what goes in it! (Thank you to my nephew, Amitai Asif, for this fab photo!)

I love the complex simplicity of this hiker’s approach to helping clean up the paths he walks on: String together necklaces of bottle caps, find trash, screw trash to empty top, continue on. Leave the world a better place than you had found it.

Reuse.

Refresh.

Reclaim.

Lead by example.

Be the solution.

Be the change you want to see.

Amen.

 

 

For The Tuesday Photo Challenge

“My Eyes Forgot!”

clean-up-messy-room-Switchmonkey

 

The room looked as if a tornado had gone through it: Toys of every size and color dotted the floor, a scatter of crayons peaked from under the bookcase, bits of paper snow-flaked the rug, a shirt’s sleeve and a lonely sock used an open drawer for recliner.

“Rachel!” the mother’s arms climbed to her waist in indignation. She’d cleaned this room that very morning.

The little girl lifted her face from the doll in her hands. Her visage was the epitome of innocence.

“Look at this room!” her mom exasperated.

The girl rotated her head obediently but without conviction.

“The mess!” the mom repeated when the child said nothing.

“Oh,” the child shrugged. One ponytail holder bobbed deeper than the other–it was hanging by a hair. “My eyes forgot to see it.”

 

 

For The Daily Post