Where She Lies

andrew-buchanan-xyl-uovEWR4-unsplash

Photo: Andrew Buchanan on Unsplash

 

Where the green grass ends

And the ocean grows

Is where she lies

And listens

To the crabs

As they crawl

And the fish

As they flutter

And the wind

As it lifts the

Wings of

Sandpipers

And spins

Seashells

On the sand.

 

 

For RDP Friday: Lies

(and for Kathryn, in my mind’s eye)

 

Space To Roam

dark-clouds-on-a-sunny-day SueVincent

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

When they first left the city she was devastated.

She knew it was the better choice. That the twins’ sensitive lungs could not function in the pollution. That Mark’s temper improved whenever he had something green to look upon. That there will be less pressure on her to perform.

And yet … she mourned.

She worried that they will be terribly lonely. That the twins’ needs will drive her to distraction and that there will not be enough there to keep her mind from wandering into the darker corners of herself, especially in the days each month when she was already prone to the morose. She worried she would hate it. Hate him. Resent them.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The rolling meadows became an endless canvas of interest. The twins spent hours in the fresh air, content to watch the play of light and shade as clouds raced across the sky and birds fleeted and hares scampered and hawks floated languidly above. They did not cry nearly as much. They slept. They began to respond. It gave her time to know them. Their facial expressions and appetites and unexpected curiosity.

She was learning to know Mark better, too, and she liked what she was getting to know better than what she’d believed she’d liked when they first met. He was kinder since they moved. More patient. Less ashamed.

She knew he’d blamed her for the twins. For their impairments. For trying to birth two babies together and then doing it so poorly that she not only gave them damaged children, but was not likely to birth again.

In the city the children were a constant reminder of his imperfections. He was saddled with them yet found little comfort in babies who were sickly and odd-shaped and would likely never walk by his side. He was “the man with the cripples,” and though he never outright said it, she knew he resented the children for that. She knew he resented her, and that he hated his family for gifting them this exile.

But in the small estate in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hills and bogs and streams and all manner of wild things, her husband seemed to find compassion. For himself. For her. For the children.

He calmed.

He took long walks.

He discovered fatherhood.

Neither of the twins smiled much, but when they did it would transform their wizened little faces into absolute delight.

In a moment of unexpected impulse, Mark discovered that he could make Tommy smile by spinning him high in his arms. And after that he could not get enough of Tommy’s dimple. Or Ronny’s laugh.

She could not get enough of Mark’s.

And she knew she would never forget the morning when she found Mark asleep in the nursery, draped on the daybed with the children cradled one to an arm. She loved him then in a way she did not believe possible.

So yes, when they first left the city, she had been devastated.

Yet in the vast open spaces of a fresh start, their grief diluted, they found a place to roam.

They found each other.

They found home.

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto

 

 

Get Connected

Walk with me OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Walk with me

Into nature

Where the fresh air

Flows through.

 

Walk with me

As we shelter

Under skies

Me, and you.

 

Walk with me

Hand in hand

Muddy boots

Flowers, too.

 

Let us breathe

And connect

With everything

That is true.

 

 

For the Tuesday photo challenge: Connect

 

 

 

Elysian Fields

Elysian Fields AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

“There is no need to die,”

He stretched his long legs

And sighed,

“To experience bliss

In the here

In the now.

We need only

Allow.”

She leaned back

And exhaled

What should have long been

Expelled.

As the breeze kissed

Her cheeks,

She prepared to be

Healed,

In the Eden on Earth

Of Elysian fields.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Elysian in 56 words

 

 

Fallen

Fallen NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

I’ve lost connection

With over-tired roots

Fragile

With the passage of the elements

And time.

I’ve let go

To the shifting earth

And to the rocks

Repeatedly cracked open

By frost and sun.

And toppled to lie

Finally

Atop the ground.

Ready to go back

To that from which

I had

Become.

 

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Trees

 

 

The Gazelle

Cheeky Deer AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

She has come to inspect

The tent

The snacks

The gear

The rest.

A gazelle

Wearing smiles

And she’ll stay

For a

While.

Entertainment

It seems

Can be found

On a whim.

 

 

 

For the Word of the Day Challenge: Gazelle

 

Let Spirits Fly

kacper-szczechla-U2L0qbBw9Jo-unsplash

Photo: Kacper Szczechla on Unsplash

 

Then

Came just the perfect time

For snowy charm

To let its spirits

Fly

On high,

And make the wind bend

Trees and

Set tardy leaves to

Sway

Astray,

As Fair Folk sprinkle

Flaky frost and

Set aflame a winter’s

Dance.

I am

Entranced.

 

 

 

For the dVerse Quadrille Challenge: Spirited

 

 

The Essentials

 

Finally.

She shrugged her pack off and lowered herself so her back rested against a tree, blessing — for the umpteenth time — the waterproofs she’d splurged on several years ago.  The purchase had meant giving up puddings for two months, but she’d never regretted the trade-off.

Food was essential, but so was heeding nature’s call for spending time in the outdoors. It was required nourishment for her soul.

In any weather, no matter damp or cold.

Soon she’d make the tent, gather wood, and light a fire to cook her oats on. But first she just sat, filling her lungs with air and her mind with calm contentment.

Raised in the city, she didn’t know how hungry she was for the outdoors until friends invited them to join a camping trip. She was ten.

Her parents hated every minute of it. For her, it had been like finally finding home.

 

 

 

For Crimson’s Creative Challenge #52

 

Painted Sky

aurora borealis

Photo by Tobias Bjørkli on Pexels.com

 

They woke

To see

The painted sky,

Where spirits

Skated

Angel-winged

On light and

Turquoise dye,

And looped the

Heavens

And the earth

Like stars

Learning to fly.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Aurora in 28 words