The Colonists

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

They would come out when dark was complete under a moon that was yet to be reborn.

First a scout would be sent. One not quite old enough to have their wisdom be missed, but not quite so young that they’d be careless or uninformed. It was an honor and a worry, both. For not all scouts returned, and laws dictated that no one is to follow and the outing abandoned until the next dark comes. The safety of the colony outweighed any singular life, no matter how heartbroken they were over losing one of their own or how many nightmares wracked the communal dreams for many sleeps afterwards.

Most times, blessed be the hidden stars, the scout would return safely. If they confirmed that all was as it should be, any who could walk would funnel topside through the tunnels that honeycombed their underground world, and out into the rocky canyon which was formed a million years ago by a whip of light from the stars.

The colony would climb over hills of leaves and navigate the muddy ponds at the bottom of the canyon, all in silence that only the heartbeats in their collective chests would pierce. For the predators were many and the colonists were small and peaceable. They lacked fangs or claws and were opposed to weaponry. The universe that sprawled beyond the walls of their rock canyon provided the provisions they required. They took the danger with the blessings.

Once beyond the relative shelter of the canyon walls, they’d fan out to forage and gather: edible leaves, stalks of grass for feed and weave and bedding, acorns, nuts, seeds, berries, and the occasional fallen fruit or discovered tuber that required many hands to trundle back into the tunnels where they lived.

They’d work until the elder who tracked the darkness passed the whisper to return, and they would fall in line to carry the final batches home.

The last to enter the canyon would pull a broom of leaves behind them – a gesture of traditional thanks for the sustenance, and a practical act for sweeping away many footsteps. The ancients had tunneled pathways for them to emerge into the night from, but there was no need to make those very pathways highways to decimation. They took care to not be known.

With all returned, the elders would seal the rocky door and bless it closed, and the colony would sigh relief as the rock itself would seem to whisper as it settled into slumber til the next unborn moon darkened the sky.

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto Challenge

 

Three’s Company

desert trio flower OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Amid pebbles and sand

Atop tenacious pale greens

Three mouths unseal

In communal reveal

To welcome

Potential

Under an

Arid sun.

 

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Trio

 

 

Singular Row

Row AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

In a row they

Were planted

Born from seed

To grow

Along.

Individual

They heightened,

Each one as

Singular

As a song.

 

For the Weekly Photo Challenge: Rows

 

Pink Strong

Pink AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

Underneath the soft plumage

And pretty colors

Afield,

Resides a strength to protect

From those who violence

Wield.

Underneath the pink top

The hat of power

Revealed,

Live truths of how both

Softness and thorns

Are required

To be healed.

 

 

For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Make mine pink

 

 

Opportune – New Blogging Challenge

This post begins what I’m trying on as a new twist on an old idea — I will be utilizing Merriam-Webster’s lovely Word of the Day, as my (hopefully daily) inspiration a-la the “Daily Prompt.”

Miss The Daily Post and want to join me in this experiment? Feel free to link to this post on your blog, and/or post a link to your blogpost in the comment section below so others can enjoy it, too. For more visibility, tag your post with #WordOfDayNY, so your post can be searchable.

“Follow” me if you want to receive future prompts, or just pop in when you’re looking for inspiration. Here’s to the fun of writing and our ever-evolving blogging community!

Merriam-Webster’s word for June 3, 2018:

Opportune

 

Old door Turkey OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

If one door

Has shut

On a path

Not yet over,

Opportune ways

May become

The future’s

Treasure trover.

 

 

For Merriam-Webster Word of the Day

More Than Afterthought

Hike OfirAsif

Photo: Ofir Asif

 

As good things end

And dear friends

Bid farewell,

Sweet and sorrow mix

Into the heart

And air

For things that will no longer be

And all to be remembered,

And for the many wonders

That will continue life

Just as the soul

Intended.

 

Dedicated with gratitude to all at the Daily Post, on their last day of The Daily Prompts, and the last week of the Weekly Photo Challenge, which along with the Community Pool and First Friday, are closing shop after 7.5 years. I wish them all much success in their future blog-ventures!

 

For The Daily Post

Forest for Trees

path2 AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

Tree by tree

It becomes.

Acorns

Saplings

Alder

Gum.

Branch by branch

Green and dun.

Creepers

Leaners

Holders on.

A woodland

Is more than its

Sum.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Alike, Not The Same

Red3 AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

We all want to be cherished,

To be known by our name.

But like flowers in meadows,

We’re alike, not the same.

It does not do to lump us

Identical, in one frame.

For like leaves of a tree,

We’re alike, not the same.

Varied hopes, many wishes,

Different dreams of acclaim.

Like the shells on a shore,

We’re alike, not the same.

Each of us has the power,

To bring hope or bring shame.

Pick just one of us too early,

And the world’s never the same.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Branch Out

NewZealand InbarAsif1

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

Branch out

Of your comfort zone.

Go out on a limb

To offer someone else

An arm to hold

A place to perch

Above the fray

And find

Some measure

Of peace.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Things That Matter

down the mountain

Photo: Atara Katz

 

 

Congregate

Around the things that matter:

The hopes of young

To grow old

Without being gunned down

By hate long fed.

The voices that have gone

Unheard

By overwhelming glower

And will no more be silenced

By greed or dread.

Congregate

Around those who stand proud

To challenge unjust power.

It is the coming together

Which will pave

New roads

For change.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post