(Photo: Johnny Cohen on Unsplash)
The sound began
A whisper,
Only to crescendo to
A cry
That made the very
Heart
Howl
In eerie
Resonance
Of pain.
Familiar
Again.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Eerie in 24 words
Resonance
Understanding
Steps Away
“We’ll carry you,” they said.
“It’s only steps away.”
The breeze blew memories of salt and sand and spray.
She raised her finger.
In her mind.
For the one that lay atop the sheets no longer knew
To move.
And yet
It was okay.
Because they understood quite perfectly
What she wanted
To say.
The gladness in her eyes.
The gift
Of yet another
Day.
“We’ll carry you,” they said.
Strong arms linked
As her heart thumped
In time to
The gentle sway.
It was only a few steps
To the water.
To the breathing
Gray surf
Of the bay.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © CEAyr
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By Design
Photo by Aditya Wardhana on Unsplash
Perhaps it is, really,
By design
Where we are born
And how we live
And how and when and why
We die.
Perhaps it is
By fate,
That we can love
And we can laugh
And dream
And struggle to let go
Of hate.
Perhaps we’re each
A stitch
In the tapestry
Of an overarching
Plan,
(That we do
Or do not
Understand).
Yet still the truth
Remains,
That our strength is
Bound to fail at
The weakest
Thread.
And that we each have a
Part in
Whether we
Mend
Or shred
The possibilities
Ahead.
And just for fun, also for Terri’s Sunday Stills: Yellow
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The Light On
Photo: Sue-Z
They left the corner light on at night.
A habit.
A ritual.
An understanding.
The stone path had been there before they bought the property, and the remains of a lantern post. It was right where they’d wanted a vegetable garden, and so at first the plan was to plow the area clear and remove the slabs and pebbles.
But then the hoe broke.
And then the belt on the mower.
And then there was the matter of their daughter’s bellowing every time they tried to work on that part of the yard.
She was barely two at the time. Not quite talking. And yet she managed to throw “No! No!” tantrums and pull at their clothing and plop herself in utter-toddler-dejection right onto where they aimed to work.
“You best give up,” their neighbor nodded her warty chin, sage eyes not unkind in understanding.
It was the Fair Ones, she explained. They had their own paths. Their own energy highways.
“The ancients had marked it. To hold space and to deter the mischief. It is easier. And the young ones can still see.”
They left the light on.
Repaired the path.
Moved the vegetable garden.
Life was better calm.
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Epoch’s End
Photo: Amitai Asif
As her eyes finally
Closed
And her breath
Not returned,
She knew
What awaited her
Just
‘Round the bend:
A new journey
Ascends
Life beyond
Epoch’s end.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Epoch in 27 words
Note: Dedicated to all who face the final journey … and thus to all … for we all would. May we walk life’s path the way we can and should.
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Sisters Of This Earth And Sky
Photo: Dikla Nachmias
Ladies of the borrowed time,
Mistresses of undemanding,
Mothers bearing down the twine
To faithful understanding,
Sisters of this Earth and sky,
Daughters threading needles of
Life verifying,
Girls who hearts ignore —
I hear you roar.
Do know:
Together we’ll weave words
From crying.
For the dVerse quadrille challenge: roar
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Therefore
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
It has come to her before.
The message that had felt like lore
And made a home
Inside her core.
It ricocheted in her heart
Amidst the four walls
Of her soul.
Her spirit knew it,
And therefore,
She left her door open
For more.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS challenge: For/Fore/Four
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They Bowed
Photo prompt: Sue Vincent
“They bow, you see,” Mir explained.
The child held on silently to his hand.
Mir peered down at the small head, so uncharacteristically still, the red curls shining like molten gold under the sun.
The quiet lingered and Mir did not break it. More words would not change how there was only so much one could say about some things.
A bird fleeted close. A bee buzzed by. Somewhere a donkey brayed and a dog’s bark answered.
Still the child did not move.
Mir let the air in and out of his lungs mark the passage of time, even as he knew it would not be measured in the same way by the child. Nor would it matter. Time is rarely what it seems to be, anyhow.
The air shimmered. The scent of smoke wafted from someplace beyond the fields, and in it mixed the faintest hints of manure and baking bread.
A caterpillar inched its way atop a blade of grass.
“There is no wind,” the child finally noted.
“There is not,” Mir confirmed.
“Are they tied together?”
“They are holding limbs.”
The child looked at her own hand in her grandfather’s. She did not look up, but Mir could feel the connection being made as it wove a thread of understanding between the two of them, between them all.
A hush fell. Then a sudden breeze rippled through the field and whistled an unnamed sound as it passed through the stacks. The tips nodded.
The child bowed back.
For Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt: Wicker
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Go Below
Photo: Amitai Asif
Go below
The surface
Of the things you know
And into hollows
That are there, but
You have not yet
Allowed
To grow.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Surface
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Time To Unlock
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
Morning bells reverberated in the ancient alleyways, echoing against well-worn stone.
He rose to make his way from the humble room he slept in, to the place of worship his soul knew as his actual home.
The Old City of Jerusalem. The holy place named for harmony, recompense, greeting, and – with hopes for higher roads to be achieved – for wholeness, safety, and peace.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Unlock in 63 words
Na'ama Yehuda 
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