The Marshal

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(Photo: Lily on Unsplash)

 

The day rose bright but she knew better than to trust

Cornflower

Skies.

It will turn wet,

She knew,

As soon as her boots

Hit the ground.

The gift of rain

On golden epaulets

Glittering through muddy parade

Grounds.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Marshal in 39 words

 

Textured Conflict

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Photo credit: A. Asif

 

The contrasting textures in this photo leave my brain and hand conflicted: the frozen icicles look almost cottony, inviting touch like an inverted carpet of melted candles or a dense curtain of just-washed fleece … and yet my brain knows they’ll be hard and cold, forbiddingly unyielding even as they slowly drip their surrender to the silky — though no less icy — flow below.

 

For the Photo Challenge