Light Ahead

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

After weeks of gray and thistles and ceaseless wind that scraped her raw, there was light.

She could scarcely believe it at first.

The cloud cover had been so complete for so long that she’d began wondering if there was even a real sun still behind it. The revolutions of soupy daylight and inky nights felt equally murky as every step became oppressive. She had waking dreams of being lost inside a massive warehouse, a mouse in a maze, endlessly seeking an exit yet seeing none.

She wondered whether there was still use in trying. She was oh so tired.

Now there was a break. The sky spawned a cavity and the leaden heavens began to dissipate. She could discern a layer of ease in the distance.

And light, streaming like caressing fingers ahead. Showing the way home.

 

 

 

Note: Dedicated to the all-too-many who are staggering through their personal wilderness, caught in the molasses of gloom, and thinking of giving up — keep on, hold on. There’s light ahead, and we’re leaving it on for you.

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto challenge

 

 

Merry-Go-Round

Photo prompt © Jean L. Hays

 

“Used to be a zoo,” Ol’ Joe stuffed his cheek full of chewing tobacco. No frowning from Mama could make him give it up.

I gazed at the empty parking lot. We kept the market open by sheer willpower and another mortgage.

Mama often argued it was money down the drain, but Pops would shake his head. “History is a merry-go-round, Penny. It’ll come back. We just have to hang in there a little longer.”

Then the two of them would look at Ol’ Joe, and I knew: closing the business would kill him. Grandpop’s life was tied into Route 66.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

Windowed

cuba11 inbarasif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

“They’re all old,” the guide gestured, “but some are worse off than others, for they are windowed.”

“Age does not make a building old,” he explained. “Even if sooner or later years form spider webs of fine cracks on every wall, those are just realities built by time. The product of life.”

“But these ones,” his hand rose in half-salute, half-point toward a row of especially dilapidated shutters, “they are windowed.”

When our faces must have told him we still hadn’t the story he’d wanted be told, he sighed and took pity on us. So privileged we had to be to not have lived what would have let us understand the depth of meaning in his words.

“Rooms empty of everything but ruined dreams. Windows widowed of hope. Houses like these go beyond broken relics. Some had gone so long bereft of young ones to gaze through their portals in a waking dream, that short of a miracle to breathe life back into them, they are windowed: dried to the bone of sound, stripped of souls, ready to fall.”

 

 

For V.J.’s Weekly Challenge: Windows

 

In Flight

in flight stephenforte

Photo: Stephen Forte

 

In the slight pause between

Flapping up,

Flapping down,

Live the breath

And the lift

That propel

To carry on.

 

 

For the Photo for the Week challenge: Birds

 

If Eyes Could Speak

Ethiopia8 DvoraFreedman

Photo: Dvora Freedman

 

If eyes could speak,

They’d tell of roads

No one should take,

And hardship that

Does not build,

But breaks.

If eyes could speak,

They’d share the stories

Of long paths,

That some must walk

With shattered hearts.

If eyes could speak,

They’d share hope, too.

For being seen

Brings light into

What one must know,

And one must do.

 

 

For Nancy Merrill’s a Photo a Week challenge: Eyes

 

 

Commuting Perspective

sidetracked1 SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

When stuck in stalled traffic

Or standing smooshed on the train

I remind myself how

For many

The commute is truly a strain.

 

For Sunday Stills: Transportation

 

Bedtime for Luna


PHOTO PROMPT © Gah Learner

 

“So, remember,” her hand on the door’s handle. “Bedtime at 9, only one treat, brush your teeth.”

“And no opening the door for anyone,” he intoned.

At least it got him a smile. There weren’t many of them of late.

She tucked an errant lock of hair behind an ear and suddenly he couldn’t stand it.

“When will you be back?” He knew. He had to ask.

She glanced at the window. The court-order weighed heavy on her mind.

“When Luna goes to bed behind the mountain, I’ll be home.”

For the last time.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

Tempestuous Times

cmurrey clothesline Flickr

Photo: cmurrey, Flickr

 

“These are tempestuous times,” she said

And her strong hands wrung the laundered sheets

To squeeze out suds

As she would want

To push out infiltrated evil.

“I’ve seen hardship before,” she stirred

The linens

In the boiling vat,

Simmering the despair

Till it foamed and evaporated

Into bleached hope.

“Wrong does not last,” she rinsed

And wrung

And shook

And hung

The wash

Till it fluttered

Free

To dry,

Only the barest of stains

Still visible

In the sun.

 

Merriam-Webster’s word for July 30, 2018:

Tempestuous

This post continues the blogging challenge in which Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day, serves as inspiration a-la the “Daily Prompt.”

Want to join me? 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. Poetry, photography, short stories, anecdotes: Go for it!

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!

 

Age Value

Water worn AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

Water-worn by the ages

By the floods

By the rain,

Time has carved

Eras’ layers

Through the rock

Grain by grain.

Scars of years

Line the wadi

To funnel life –

None in vain.

 

 

For The Tuesday Photo Challenge

Measure of Hope

measure

In every time of

Hardship

There is a

Measure of

Hope.

In every time of sorrow

There is a

Measure of

Love

For what was

Lost.

In every uphill struggle

There is a

Measure of

Vistas

To be reached.

In every battle

There

Must

Be

A measure of

Understanding

For the

Absolute

Necessity

Of

Peace.

For The Daily Post