The Perfect Shoes

20190224Photo Courtesy of Susan Spaulding

 

She came across them at the thrift store, squashed in a box along with moth-eaten scarves, a pair of slacks with holes that could tell many stories, two helplessly dented hats, and some fabric scraps.

She was about to lift a shoe to ask about the price when the proprietor glanced in her direction. “Those are by the box,” he drawled. “Take it or leave it. No picking.”

“How much?” She swished her hand inside the box and shrugged, worrying he’d overcharge her if he detected interest.

“Thirty.”

Her eyebrows hiked up on their own accord. The shoes alone were worth ten times as much.

“Twenty, final offer,” he misinterpreted her gesture.

She gazed into nearby containers till her thrumming heart settled down and she could pour something less jello-like into her legs.

“I’ll take it.”

She carried the box to the car fully expecting to hear the shopkeeper’s voice calling her back to point out a mistake. No call came.

Finally at home, she rescued the shoes, stuffed them with tissue-paper, and placed them reverently under Great-Great-Grandma’s bridal gown. Family lore was that she’d had big feet and had to wear men’s shoes. Those were a perfect match.

 

 

For Susan’s Sunday Photo Fiction

 

Woolgathering

snow view KarenForte

Photo: Karen Forte

 

Pause, and

Let your mind wander

In waking reverie

To the places where

Tomorrow’s seeds

Are sleeping

Underneath the snowy

Ground,

Wrapped in the arms

Of memories

Of days

Long passed

And others

Yet to come.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Woolgathering in 36 words

 

 

 

Blue thoughts on Yellow

mirrored karenforte

Photo: Karen Forte

 

In middle school the uniforms

Were yellow tops and blue skirts

For the girls,

Yellow tops and blue slacks

For the boys.

 

The hue of yellow

In the official

Button downs,

Was a pale shade that made

Even the ruddy

Cheeks of children

Wash out

In the sun.

 

I used to think perhaps

This was the only color

Merchants had on overstock

When the school had first opened:

A fabric rescued

After years of fade brought on

By being forgotten

By everyone.

 

Oh, it was a decent enough school,

With friends I have kept

In touch with since the

Beginning of Sixth Grade.

It was the yellow hue

That had me blue.

 

Decades passed

And while

The beauty and the range

Of it in nature

Does indeed move me to tears,

I’m yet to own

A yellow garment

Even after

All these years.

 

 

 

For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Blue and Yellow

 

Memory Jar

Photo prompt: © Priya Bajpal

 

“Can I take one now?”

“Breakfast first.”

Deena sighed. She ate her oatmeal and drank her milk, but her eyes kept returning to the seashell table Dad had gotten for Mom. Before. To the jar that usually stood on the mantel. Since.

Finally, Grandma rose and put her mug in the sink.

Now that it was time, Deena hung back. She remembered filling the jar, with Grandma, after the accident, when memories were fresh and both their hearts were broken.

Grandma took her hand. “Come. Reach in. Pick one, and you’ll see – the right moment with them will find you.”

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

Heart Memories

Kathtyn and Carol Jan08

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Good friends to me,

To each other,

Their hearts and souls

Brimming love.

A decade passed

Since this photo,

And both had grown

Angel wings.

Sweet moments

Of memories

That won’t ever

Depart.

 

 

Dedicated to Kathryn and Carol, forever thankful to have known you. You are forever in my heart.

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Memories

 

An Arrow Spent

boats trees SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

She used to splice the water like an arrow, undeterred by swells.

She’d always been better than him, though he never admitted it and she was too proud to brag and sometimes too overconfident.

They pretended playful competitions but those inevitably turned into dogged races that left them near exhaustion. Luke even capsized once, far from shore. He was upset by her gaining on him and so tired that all he managed was to slap the water with his oar and spin his boat into the wide belly of a wave. Nearly spent herself, she barely managed to help him into hers.

She’d give everything to race him again.

She gazed into the bay. She could no longer row. Her boat rested, overturned. Perhaps it kept her brother company. He, too, was beached, six feet below.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Arrow in 135 words

 

 

Echoes Of Before

Old door Turkey OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Who had stepped through this door

Over thresholds

Before?

What words did old timber

Hear

In times gone but still near?

Do dormant secrets

Await

Behind a roped-to-close gate?

If you step close enough to

Go through

Will the past echo to you?

 

For the Wits End Photo Challenge: History

 

My Neighbor’s Bike

 

toddler s pink bike near wall

Photo by Afta Putta Gunawan on Pexels.com

 

My first bike

Was a neighbor’s bike.

“Too many hills,” my mom had said

As if topography in any way diminished

The accelerated thrill

Of legs off pedals

From the top of the rise

To our street.

There was no arguing

Or vowing to share and never fight.

We knew her words were code

For “we cannot afford.”

But my sister’s friend across the street

Did have a bike

And with it the absolute power to dispense

Rides, routes, direction, and duration.

There were no training wheels

To ease one in.

There was no question of admitting

Complete lack of experience

And risking an evaporated offer.

So it was guts and trepidation

A stranglehold on the handlebar

And the utter exhilaration

Of flying.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World Challenge

 

Mind Travel

LuckyCoffee InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

How does time spiral on itself

Even as it unfolds to expand

Outwards?

How do the faces that your mind recalls

Rekindle scenes that take you

Backwards?

And how do those refill your hand

With all of what you’re working

Towards?

Maybe it is all as it should

As long as tender hearts reflect their kindness

Onwards.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World Challenge

A Shared World

central park1 May2018 NaamaYehuda

Central Park, NYC; Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

In the midst of the bustle,

The hectic,

The cramped,

A shared world

Sprawls lush green:

Just a few steps

Within

A deep breath

And some peace

To partake in.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World Challenge