
Photo: Amitai Asif
One man.
One sail.
One boat.
One day.
The rock of waves
Holding a sway,
He grasps the bar
Through misty spray,
As mountains loom
In white and gray.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: One

Photo: Amitai Asif
One man.
One sail.
One boat.
One day.
The rock of waves
Holding a sway,
He grasps the bar
Through misty spray,
As mountains loom
In white and gray.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: One

Photo: Philip Coons
Hitch the horses to the carriage,
Pack the trunk
(Or wagon) full.
There’s a lot yet to discover,
As we hit the road.
Now pull!
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Road

Tel Zafit, Israel (Photo: Atara Katz)
Take a measure
Of history,
Held in hand
Like a gift
From time.

Nata Silina at Supercoloring.com
“I expect loyalty,” he stated.
A silence followed.
Shock or perhaps because
There was
No honorable way to respond.
“I need loyalty,” he repeated
With the implication clear:
You bend the knee
Or you are gone,
Swear fealty to the man
Or you’re a traitor
And an enemy to be scorned.
“You will always get honesty from me,”
Came the measured return.
“That’s what I want,” twisted the retort,
“An honest loyalty.”
As if there was such thing
As honest loyalty
To one who deemed acceptable
Only what offers
Praise and supplication,
And allows no room
For truth,
Let alone for the calling out of
The Emperor’s bare bottom
Of the barrel
Governing
Or his disregard for honor
As he dons repeated sets of
Non-existent,
Yet much lauded by him,
‘New Clothes.’
Note: As it happens, the book I’m reading and which was right by my elbow as I read the prompt … is “The Mueller Report” (w/ commentary by the Washington Post; page 296 of the book, page 35 of volume II in the report). … And the rest, well, is history. And what will be …? We shall yet see.
For Linda Gill’s SoCS: open book, point, write

Photo: Amitai Asif
It cracks the rock and pushes forth
To skies that swirl in
Matching froth.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Flower

Photo: Amitai Asif
You’ve seen nations
Rise
And fall,
Felt oil
Extracted
From trees’ toil.
You’ve seen
The farmers
Tend the soil,
Bread dipped
To nourish
Heart and soul,
As children laughed
And played
And lived
And died
Through centuries of
War and spoil,
While you remained
Above the boil,
Till peace returns
For olives’ roil.
Note: The photo is of an ancient base stone (called “Yam” in Hebrew) of the grinding stones that are used for the first step of extracting oil from olives. A current-day olive grove can be seen in the background to the left. Olives were first domesticated about 6,000 years ago, likely in the Mediterranean basin. Documented history of deliberate oil pressing can be found as early as 4,500 years ago (around 2,500BCE).
To this day, making olive oil involves several stages of crushing and rinsing to extract the oil. In many places, olives are still harvested by hand or by beating the fruit off of the trees. The olives are then washed, and crushed by milling stones (traditionally between a bottom stone like the one in the photo and one or two mill stone that stand perpendicular to it and roll around the base stone). The millstone/s were historically moved by use of man-power or animal power, and in some places still are. The pulp is placed in woven bags or baskets, then the baskets themselves are pressed. The liquid from the press bags gets drawn into a reservoir where oil is left to settle and separate. Oil is then skimmed off and allowed to settle again, sometimes repeatedly, to remove impurities.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Ancient

Photo: Adi Rozen-Zvi
May there be a home
Inside this house,
Where the strength
And flexibility
Of bamboo
Is proffered,
As basis for the rapid
Steady growth
Love offers.
For Cee’s Black &White Challenge: House

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
You look down from the edge
To see,
The world bottoming out
From what could be.
The waters
That will take with them
Again
To sea,
All that has come
Before
And will one day
Once more
Be free.
For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Edge

Photo: TimHill on Pixabay
The mood shifted,
Scudding and persistent,
And she knew that no matter the allure
To try and reach out
To touch it
In attempt to stop
It’s flow,
To do so would only
Poison them with
Mercurial glow.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Mercurial in 38 words
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