Pink Sky Won’t Lie

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

There it was.

Now she knew what would certainly happen. It did not matter that the calendar had counted down the days for many weeks. It did not matter that arrangements have been made, checklists marked, letters sent, particulars organized. She suspected, she resisted, she pretended …

Till now.

“Pink sky won’t lie,” her grandfather had always said. A fisherman all his life, he’d counted on the minutia of the heavens to warn or greet his days.

She’d learned to accept his observations, no matter how disappointed she was with a last minute reversal of plans he’d made for her to go with him. “The water is no place for children today,” he’d say. And saddened though she’d be, she knew enough to respect his judgment of the weather, and knew him well enough to know that nothing she could say or do would dissuade him once he’d made up his mind.

“God may control the weather,” he’d tell her (though always well out of earshot of her grandmother, who would’ve boxed his ears for speaking heresy, grown man or not). “But to me the weather is the real God. I can’t see God, but I sure can see these skies, and I know what they tell me. I heed those clouds. I heed those waves. I heed those colors in the sky.”

And heed he had. Though heeding did not mean one could always escape the wrath of what was coming.

The waves had claimed her grandfather when she was not yet ten. A fast-moving storm that all had later said no one could’ve out-rowed. She almost stopped believing after that. Stopped taking heed.

Because if Grandfather couldn’t read the sky or if the sky could hide its meaning from him, why even bother trying? What will be, will be. Que Sera sera.

And yet, someplace, she never did stop checking the color of the heavens every morning. Somehow, she never did stop glancing out of windows, no matter where in the world she found herself, or how far from any seas or oceans.

Oh, she listened to the forecast. She had the Telly on while she got herself ready for the day. She checked the extended before she packed.

Yet she trusted few things better than what her own eyes showed her: Pink sky at night, sailor’s delight. Pink sky in the morning, means sailor’s warning.

The sky were ablaze.

It was dawn.

She considered herself warned.

 

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto Challenge

 

Or Not

blue plastic frame desk globe

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

The sun will warm

Again

Or far

Too hot.

The water that sustains

Will flood

Again

Or not.

The tenet that prevails

Remains:

This magic of a planet

To protect

We ought,

Or an ultimatum

Spurred by greed

With life as

Afterthought,

Will render what we

Know

And what we for our

Children hoped,

Into a disaster

We had let be

Bought.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Ultimatum in 62 words

 

 

Where It Broke Out

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

“This is where it broke out.”

Bender shaded his eyes from the glare and squinted at the black patch on the meandering snake of ice.

“Tis a mighty small one, then,” he noted.

Roman frowned. “That hole is bigger up close. And anyway, you should’ve seen the length of it.”

Bender shrugged and took a few steps closer, daring Roman to do the same. The ice crunched under their feet, a staccato to their accelerating heartbeat.

They would be punished for walking here. The Winter Gods had taken too many who strayed onto what masqueraded as solid ground but was in fact bog fairies lurking beneath frosted fronds. Even in summer these flats were dangerous, full of sinkholes and swampy ponds that sucked at your feet and then leeched out your blood. Children were outright forbidden from entering the bog.

Which made the space all the more alluring to boys who had to prove bravery and test the lore.

For there was a boy, the stories told, who got swallowed by a sinkhole only to be adopted by the creek and made half-human and half-snake. He could breathe both in the air and underwater, and came to hunt in winter, when other snakes were slowed by cold.

Some had said they’d seen it, slithering among the silver plants by dusk and dawn. Some even claimed to have escaped its grasp — for the half-boy-half-snake had arms that ended in sharp claws held close to it’s lower body as it undulated silently toward its prey. One man had four parallel scars upon his calf that he said were the proof of his escaping the creature.

Roman said he’d seen it, slipping out of the ice.

Bender never could trust Roman’s sight, influenced as it tended to be by what his friend wished to see but often did not. Still, to say so would be showing him a coward … so … Bender took another step, crunching deeper into the foreboding land.

Behind him, Roman breathed out clouds of exhalation accentuated by shorter puffs of terror. “Perhaps it had gone back in already,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Bender gasped in barely masked relief. “Must have. After all, it is almost full light. Nothing for it but for us, too, to head back.”

 

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto prompt

Fatefully Furrowed

muddy tracks chagit moriahgibor

Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor

 

“What did this?”

Calvin gulped.

“What?!” Eric insisted. “A jeep?”

“Not a car.”

“What then?”

“We better turn back.”

Eric squinted at the muddy furrows.

“Nothing you want to meet in the dark,” Calvin shuddered and revved the motorcycle’s engine.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Furrowed in 40 words

 

Freeze Flow

freeze flow InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

Take heed where

Out of the blue

Slides a clear

Frozen flue,

Weeping ice

Telling you

That more change

Is in queue.

 

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Slippery

 

Apparatchik Acolyte

Spine Fig111 GrayHenry1918

Spine; Gray Henry 1918

 

Beware of being blinded

By the application

Of flattery

(Or use of abuse)

To gain influence

For harm.

For if you do turn into

A servile acolyte

There is no end

To the baser motives

That you, too, will

Become.

 

 

Merriam-Webster’s word for July 21, 2018:

Acolyte

This post continues the blogging challenge in which Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day, serves as inspiration a-la the “Daily Prompt.”

Want to join me? Feel free to link to this post on your blog, and/or post a link to your blogpost in the comment section below so others can enjoy it, too. Poetry, photography, short stories, anecdotes: Go for it!

For more visibility, tag your post with #WordOfDayNY, so your post can be searchable.

“Follow” me if you want to receive future prompts, or just pop in when you’re looking for inspiration. Here’s to the fun of writing and our ever-evolving blogging community!

 

Path Advice

desert intersection OfirAsif

Photo: Ofir Asif

 

In the deserts of life

When it seems that oases you’ve taken for granted

Have forgotten

Marked paths,

Don’t ignore painted signs

Of the flags of times past.

The direction you take may determine

If your very next steps

Lead to hope

Or end up being

Your last.

 

For Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge

 

A Global Warning

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

They said it would get warm, but they didn’t say how quickly or how relentlessly. He thought it would take decades.

He was wrong.

Trees still foliaged but most other plants withered. Same for people.

It killed the young, old, weak, and callous. The talking heads had babbled about it before TV stopped. They couldn’t justify cooling the studios when the grid struggled to air-condition hospitals. Not that the latter did much good.

He sighed and retreated from the window. Ignored his daughter’s empty bed. They were warned. By the time they deigned to listen, it was already too late.

 

 

For the Friday Fictioneers Challenge

 

You’ve Been Warned

A song without words AtaraKatz

Photo: Atara Katz

 

To the fingers of winter

That are still

Gripping hold:

You have done all you could

To prevail with the cold

But it’s time

To move on

Summer’s soon

You’ve been warned …

 

 

For The Daily Post