Photo: Amitai Asif
He will carve mountains
For them.
Slow but steady
In his pressure.
Relentless
In the calculated cold of his
Convictions,
That curl like tight fists
Under an unquestioning love.
He has carved himself
In the process,
Into valleys of sacrifice.
Carved them, too,
Into mirror images
To reflect the truths he holds.
He will carve mountains
For them,
Heavy-handed and doggedly
Protective.
Glacial with volcanic undertones.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Glacial in 66 words
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
“Look, Mama,” the child called, a soft fist held aloft as she ran, delighted, toward her mother. “I found some polka-dot blueberries!”
“Wait, where? Let me see? Those aren’t … Did you eat any?”
The child shrugged and twirled away, fingers closing protectively over a grimy palm that still held some blue orbs of what-mama-said-are-not-really-blueberries.
“Wait! Get back here. I need to see those again … Are you sure you didn’t eat any? They could make you very sick! And …” the woman looked around their deserted picnic blanket. “Where is your brother..? Where’s Eric!?”
“Oh,” the little girl pranced out of reach, and gestured vaguely in the direction of the trees beyond the forest clearing. “There. He found polka-dot strawberry mushrooms!”
Note: Inspired by a true story of a family I know, whose summer picnic ended up with a call to Poison Control, an ambulance, and two children in the Emergency Department. One child was fine. The second child eventually got better. Mama still can’t touch berries or mushrooms. Teach your children about the dangers of foraging and instruct them to not pick or eat (!!) any plant they don’t show you FIRST. …
For Terri’s Sunday Stills: Danger
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Look, Mama! Look at this!
Can you believe how high?!
I did the whole thing by myself
And I will tell you why:
It is the tallest building king
That ever touched the sky,
And I will build it up again
Each time someone walks by.
For Friday Foto Fun: Construction
Photo: Atara Katz
Listen up
Little fluff
There’ll be no mischief
And stuff.
Best make sure
That you stay
In the shallows,
If you don’t
Wish to meet
Claws as gallows.
There will be no
Dissent
Till wings let you
Ascend.
So since you are yet
To create
Actual feathers,
You will heed
Pond-time rules
By your elders.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Feathers
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
He was so small
I recall,
How did he grow
Suddenly so?
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Growth
They didn’t mean to.
They had to think fast.
“What in God’s married name is that?!”
Gary glanced at Gloria. Mom only used the expression when the you-know-what was about to hit the fan.
“I told you this was stupid,” Gloria hissed as they ran to the door. “It only made it look worse!”
Gary shot her a “shut-up-and-let-me-handle-it” look.
“Hi Mom,” he announced and swung the door open so that (hopefully) only the taped side was visible. “Do you like it? It’s a Christmas tree duct tape art. To remind you of the holidays!”
For Rochelle’s FridayFictioneers
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
Held afloat
You safely hover
Over a pebbled
Burbling stream,
As you reach
To touch
The shimmer
And delight
In your smile beams.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Contact
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
The child gawked at the offers,
Little jaw dropped agape:
Who put Elmo in icing?
Why would anyone want
His best friend to bake?
The boy’s eyes traveled upwards,
Rounded wide at the shelf:
How did Ernie and Bert
End up stuck into cakes?
Can you pull out poor Oscar?
Can Big Bird escape?
This won’t do for my party
I want ice cream instead.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Funny
“Should be safe to rest here,” Ron lowered Percy’s carrier. The straps left red gouges on his shoulders. The boy was too big to be carried but we had to leave the wheelchair behind.
Ron rolled his neck, glanced at the underpass’s puddle, and reached for the tablets. “I’ll purify some water.”
“Will they find us, Mama?” Percy put words to my heartache. He’d endured silently through miles of jarring terrain.
“We’ve been careful,” I looked into his worried eyes as I massaged the contracted limbs. “Also, new laws or not, we won’t let you be taken by Leave-Only-Abled-Children raids.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Zaid Abu Taha on Pexels.com
She is early in birth
And early in breath,
Independent in all.
She’s come forth barely cooked
But is here even so
Stubbornly grabbing hold
Ravenous in her howls,
In a world just a tad
Unprepared
For her life-hungry spirit
And determined
Big soul.
[Dedicated to all the little ones who arrive exactly at the right time … for them. … and to all who work with them, to make it the best possible time and outcome.]
For the dVerse Poetry Challenge: Early in 44 words
original fiction, rhyme and photography
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