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
Fresh Blush
Nature
Pinked
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Won’t hold back
An all out bloom,
Fully pinked
By soul’s perfume.
For the Nancy Merrill’s Photo A Week Challenge: Pink
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Monochrome Mountain
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
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Leaving Leaves
Photo: Karen Forte
In flaming end to
Warmth’s reprieve,
Cold days burnish
Red
Onto leaves.
A final curtain call
To leave.
For Calm Kate’s Friday Foto Fun Challenge: Leaves
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Perfect View
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
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Boulder Holder
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
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New Wings
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.”
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The Chief’s Command
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.”
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Fielded
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
On the cusp between
The wild
And the
Cultured
Weeds puff heads
Toward incoming
Clouds.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Field
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After The Fire
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
Na'ama Yehuda 
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