Fresh Blush

Green Pomegranate OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

A nascent blush

Promises

The sweetness

To come

And holds the space

For what is yet

To form.

 

For the Sunday Stills challenge: Fresh

Monochrome Mountain

Mountain sheep AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

But for lines

On a rock

Guiding one

To take stock,

Eyes may strain

To discern

What is feed

What is fog

What is flock

What is dog.

 

 

For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Colorful Monotones

 

Perfect View

aerial photography of tree surrounded with fogs

Photo: Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

 

“There!” Angelo pointed.

“There what?” Payton panted

“There if you bother to lift your head.”

Payton scowled but was more occupied with getting oxygen into his lungs than wasting it on responses. He was sure that Angelo-The-Braggadocio had set the punishing pace deliberately to get him gasping. Not everyone climbed mountains for recreation!

The stitch in his side finally subsided enough to allow him to remove his fists from his thighs and straighten to take in the “amazing vista” Angelo had promised.

Dense fog. Vague tree tops. Milky air.

“There goes nothing,” Payton grouched.

Angelo chuckled and the saturated air softened the sound into something almost vulnerable.

Payton glanced at his friend. Glanced again. Was the wet on Angelo’s cheeks mist or liquid feelings?

“It is the perfect view,” Angelo murmured, his oft guarded face as open as a child’s. “To be inside Big Sky is to revisit Heaven.”

 

 

For What Pegman Saw: Big Sky Montana

 

 

Boulder Holder

Boulder holder NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Wrapping tentative fingers

That become tangled vines

Jungle trees tell the boulder:

“You’re my rock, you are mine.”

 

 

For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge

 

New Wings

tltweek149

Photo: Boris Smokrovic via Unsplash

 

She clung to the flower and whispered, awe shuddering through with each beat:

“I didn’t even know to imagine how it would feel to stretch wings,

to sense the blood pumping through to the tips, edges fluttering free with the wind.”

 

For Three Line Tales #149

 

The Chief’s Command

Ethiopia OfirAsif12

Photo: Ofir Asif

 

“They are not welcome here,” the Chief decreed.

His eyes regarded the troop that was his to protect. The land was plentiful, but his soul recalled the stories of Times of Famine, when many had been reduced to skin and bone and many more had died. Legend had it that The Others had brought it on, had taken more than was their share, and angered rain from falling, seeds from growing.

He sensed Bannu’s discontent. Chiefs didn’t have to grant permission for anyone’s opinion. Life showed him, however, that good Chiefs balanced silencing with persuading.

“Bannu?” he grunted.

“What if they return with more of their kind?” The youngster’s sparse ruff bristled apprehension.

The Chief nodded. Foresight was rare. The youth had potential. It also made him someone to watch out for.

“If they challenge us,” the Chief bared teeth and growled an answer and a warning. “We fight.”

 

 

For What Pegman saw: Ethiopia

 

After The Fire

after the fire DvoraFreedman

Photo: Dvora Freedman

 

After the fire

Come the expelled breath

Of sorrow,

The stripped soul

Of Earth,

The charred remains

Of dreams,

And the held breath

Of hope.

 

 

For the dVerse challenge: Fire