(Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
The sun shone
As spring gently yet
Resolutely strode
On.
The park evolved into
A luminous
Expanse
Of green
Shoots
And pink petals
Unfold.
A respite
From the winter’s
Cold.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Luminous in 30 words.
“It has no feathers.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Molly noted. “It’s a duckling. It has fuzz.”
Duffy was not impressed. The small thing was squeaky and looked utterly too squeashy. She wasn’t even sure it was waterproofed.
She shook her head. She never was good with small squeaky, squeashy, clingy things.
“It’s only for a short while,” Molly’s voice was soft, but Duffy recognized the little waves of irritation that signaled turbulence just underneath the surface.
Best not mess with that.
Duffy sighed and peered closely at the fuzzball. “So what am I supposed to do with it?”
Molly flapped with such relief that Duffy wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or terrified.
“Just keep it out of trouble,” her sister called, already on the wing.
“What kind? How…?”
Silence.
Then a squeak.
The fuzzball waddled, pooped, and attempted to preen its zero feathers. Ridiculous.
Her nephew.
Also kinda’ cute.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
There was a mystery
To their madness.
An uncanny sense of
Doom.
But she did not flail
Afraid
In darkness,
Whilst she could spot a petal
Bloom.
Instead, she watched
With rapt intention
As life suffused
Their eerie
Gloom.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Uncanny in 39 words
The dreary times were soon to pass.
No matter that her breath still steamed both outdoors and inside the drafty house. No matter that her red fingers barely bent with swelling and that the chilblains on her toes still burned and ached and itched. No matter that she took so long to warm come night that she almost despaired of sleeping.
The dreary times were soon to pass.
She knew.
True, it was still frosty.
But the cold was dying.
She knew, because the ice formed only on the very edges of her washbasin and because what frost adorned the ground in the morning would transmute into miniature mirrors of dew by the time the sun rose higher in the sky.
And because she saw the primrose.
Blooming.
Out there.
In audacious glee.
If the tiny flowers could endure the remnants of frigidity, so could she.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
(Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
Look yonder and you may see
What has, perhaps, become
Of me.
The good, the bad, we could
Agree,
Had gone to bed and woke up
Free.
Look yonder
And you will find
A key,
To what helps us
Grow
From one, to we.
For Sammi‘s Weekend Writing Prompt: Yonder in 44 words
(Photo: Amitai Asif)
The sun took her leisure.
It was, after all, the longest day.
She could, till the next time,
Meander
Just a little bit
Across the sky.
Peering down at the blue marble
She raised a ray to salute
The tiny orbit.
Odd,
That one,
In how it keeps questioning
Why.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Orbit in 50 words
(Photo: Crispina Kemp)
A steady stream of arms laden with crinkly cellophane bundles traipsed through the narrow entrance corridor, up the stairs, around the bend, and past the out-of-order elevator.
The smells of urine, rust, and peeling paint receded. Giving way to vases, boxes, baskets, floral foams, and rubber bands.
There were roses. Lush buds with intrepid blooms unfurling their blushing petals amidst a proliferation of snowy Baby’s Breath.
There were carnations in white, fuchsia, orange, and a teal-blue hue that nature did not make but lent a Caribbean Sea vibe to the bouquet.
Daffodils and tulips, proud atop their stems, even if their own growth did not commence in frosted ground but in the cushy climate of the nursery.
And Gerbera daisies in a smiling rainbow of colors resting atop greens.
The room brimmed with the scent of flowers.
If she could not wait for spring, they would bring spring to her.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Listen
To the tune
Sung by
Leaves
As they
Grow.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Tune in 10 words
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Where waters tide
‘Round canyons
Carved by time
And ice,
Other canyons
Rise
Man-made
To tickle skies.
Where greenery
Respite to
Millions
Provides,
Sleep memories
Of others
Who used to there
Reside.
Where footfalls mask
The horns of cars
And rustles hold
More sway,
There breathes the city
That like me
Many call home
Today.
For the dVerse challenge: take me with you
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
To be home
Where the sun kisses
Blooms
On the sly,
And the buildings cannot
Hide reflections
Of sky,
Where new life bursts on forth
Undeterred
Joy unmasked,
And this moment
Outdoors
Is almost all one
Can ask.
For the Lens-Artists Challenge: at home
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