Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
They push up
Through cold ground
Where morning frost
Still abounds
And color
The park
So a new spring
Can spark.
(Not quite this year’s spring photo … yet – this one being from early spring in 2017 – but it nonetheless infuses hope for soon-to-be cousins of these blooms enlivening the park!)
For Terri’s Sunday Stills: Spring
Photo: Tina Nord on Pexels.com
She held her breath and waited for the instant
In time
Where Earth’s equator passed through
The center of the sun.
Imperfectly balanced
As it was
By arcs and tilt and latitudes,
She cared not about
The argument that it could never be
In ideal form,
Or that the exact timing
Varied
With convictions
And perceptions of the mind.
She paused nonetheless,
Determined
To witness the fleeting equilibrium
Of light and dark,
And the shift of balance
That it could,
perhaps today, allow.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Equinox in 83 words
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
In the cracked curl
Of earth
Baked in sun
And ancient salt,
The Dead Sea
Awaits a
Flawed flow of
Redemption,
Or a whitened end.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Texture
Photo: Dvora Freedman
Rise above
Hardship’s fray
In gentle curls
Of delicate
Pink,
And an underbelly
Of powerful
Orange
Smelted from the
Brink.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Orange and Pink
Photo: Amitai Asif
“I will wait by the tree,”
She had said.
“At the fork where
The road
Meets the lush, green
Horizon.”
Wait she did,
Day again and again
And a month, and another.
Wait until they had come
Trudging home
From the war,
Wearing smiles, but
Carrying the weight
Of their sorrows
Around them.
For Becca Givens’ Sunday Trees
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
Photo: Atara Katz
May your day be lit
By sun
And new grown things
On path to home
And love within.
May the closing year
Bring calm
And blushing joy
And flowered hope
For what begins.
For Sunday Stills: Something Red
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
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
It is time to make time
For the truth
Of what happened.
It is time to make space
For what some wished
Not be known.
It is time to take heed
Of the lengths went
To smother
The misdeeds and bad choices
So the fake
Will take hold.
It is time to revisit
Civic duty and justice
And refuse to permit
Free reign for hate,
Greed and lies.
It is time to return
To the truth.
For in fact it has long been
Well way past
The time.
Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor
As chilly nights
Churn cold winds
And unclothed trees
Hold branches
In a yearn
To huddle near,
Cherish the fleeting
Flowing moments
Of memory’s chalices
Filling with cheer,
As a child
Chants a prayer
And gently lights
History’s challenge
To despair
Lack
And fear.
For the dVerse Quadrille Monday challenge: Cheer
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