Essentially

bridge over quiet water SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

“Essentially, it should just be a matter of putting one foot in front of the other,” Dan noted, raising a mischievous bushy eyebrow and staring meaningfully at the assembled group of aspiring hikers. “Only that for some of us this might be an impossibility, seeing that … well …”

The participants laughed.

The six youngsters had barely five feet between them, let alone the assumed two per beating heart.

Dan had none.

“So,” the bearded guide waved a muscular arm over the skateboard that supported his legless torso. “We do something better.”

He pointed at each of the youngsters and their varied modes of conveyance. “We glide, we slide, we roll, we hop, we drive. We do whatever is necessary, and …” he chuckled, “because lunch will be served at the end of this path, we best get started or we’ll also end up doing it hungrily.”

 

 

For the SoCS challenge: ends with -ly

 

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

 

 

Walk This Way

Ein Pit OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Walk this way

To the water

Where the goats

Cleared a path.

Walk this way

Where the feet

Of the ancients

Have passed.

Walk this way

Little brother

I will give you

My hand.

Walk this way

And together

Our adventures

Expand.

 

 

For Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge

 

Make Way

Mulch path Central Park NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

There’s a path in the park

Lined by mulch from trees past

So that every step presses

What had grown,

What won’t last.

 

 

For Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge

No Underdog!

Photo Marnie Russ

Little Roo. Photo: Marnie Russ

 

The runt of the litter. The smallest of smalls.

A birth’s afterthought. The last of the lot.

She was given some frowns.

She was given less hope.

She was not much to look at.

A long shot, underdog.

Yet inside her she had something fierce

At her core

She was never the winner

But she was something more:

She worked harder than hard

She learned patience from woe

She grew up,

She believed

She perceived and she saw,

She found footholds in smiles

She made steps from each praise

She climbed up rungs of hardship

Found her stride

Found her ways

To amaze.

 

 

Click her for more about Little Roo’s story 

For The Daily Post

Risky Paths

cross2 OfirAsif

Photo: Ofir Asif

 

It is okay to see the risk

And not step

Fully

Into it.

Courage does not always

Mean

Precarious

Heaving ho.

Perilous paths

Indeed at times

Need forging,

But aren’t

All

Tests of

True bravery,

When often enough

The careful way

Around

Is a daring

Opportunity.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

A Way Out

Clay Tablet Babylon Ca. 2000-1700 BC

Clay Tablet Babylon (Ca. 2000-1700 BC); SCHOYENCOLLECTION.com

 

“I just get lost,” she sighed. Her pre-teen face was creased with dejection.

Schoolwork is hard for her. She tries but often fails to live up not only to the expectations of her school, but also – and harder still – to her own views of perfection. She begins. Gives up. Procrastinates. Misses deadlines. Then needs to make-up what she had delayed as well as keep up with current assignments. School is a merry-go-round of stress and frustration.

“Lost how?” I prompted. Not only did I want to understand more about what she’d meant (rather than assume I knew it), but one of the things we’d been working on is expanding her ability to narrate her feelings and perceptions, explain and communicate her needs.

She glanced at me, not quite in irritation, but almost.

“I’m not being tricky,” I smiled. “I really want to understand.”

“Fine,” she sighed again. Her brow furrowed as she thought, and she reached over to the pad of paper that rested on the desk between us. Doodling can sometimes help make paths for words.

She scribbled for a moment, then her breath deepened and she flipped to a new page on the pad. “It’s like this,” she said.

She drew a labyrinthine squiggle that turned several times onto itself. Added another squiggle that sprouted from it, then another, and another. Sketched a stick figure at one end of the criss-crossed creation  and a bulls-eye at the other. Looked up at me to see if I’m still paying attention.

Very much so. I smiled encouragement.

“I have stuff to do and I think I know how, but I start doing it and then I get stuck,” she moved her finger over the squiggle till it ‘hit a wall.’ “So I go back, and I try another way … and I get stuck again,” her finger slid on top of the paper to another dead-end.

She looked up again. Her eyes were bright.

“So I get lost …” she swiveled her finger around the squiggly lines in a half-aimless, half-frantic manner. “It’s too hard. I give up.”

“I hear you. I really do.” I nodded, lifted my pen, and drew another squiggle around hers, connecting the pencil figure with the bulls-eye. “We need to find a better way. A way without a maze.”

 

 

For The Daily Post

A Far Away Home

 

far away home

imgur.com

 

 

May there be a home for you,

At the end of every journey.

May there be a home for you,

No matter how far you’ve gone.

May there be a home for you,

At the pause of every breath.

May there be a home for you,

In the remotest place.

May there be a light left on for you,

To help you walk through dark.

May there be a warm hearth greeting you,

And love to bloom all sparks.