Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
In the city where stairways
And buildings rise high
No surprise that car parks
Also aim for the sky …
Be aware it will take
Some time to dislodge
So it could be a tad tricky
To race out of Dodge…
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: engines and motors
Photo: Harpal Singh via Unsplash
They rode long through the dark
After closing the park
Wooden horses a-spiral in endless embark.
For the Three Line Tales Challenge
“They do not remember who they are.”
The old man’s voice was somber without judgment. A skill born of patience shaped by the combined weights of history and time.
“It is why I brought them here.”
The elder regarded his visitor. His dark eyes pools of wisdom deeper than the lines upon his skin.
A silence stretched.
“They will not find it in this place,” Sorrowful Skies said finally.
Disappointment filled the woman’s face.
“They will sleep in the lodge tonight,” he added. “Tomorrow, they will walk like their ancestors. In bare feet on breathing land. Then they will remember.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Philip Coons
Empty window
Recalls
Days of voice,
Filled up halls.
Rocking chair
Holds the space
For creaky floors
Under pace.
Tattered curtains
Still long
For a hand
To belong.
The old house
Holds its breath.
When time spins
Back again,
They will come back.
Amen.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Anticipation
Photo: Yisca Freeman
What matters most
Are those we wrap
In loving arms
To keep from harm.
What matters most
Are those who hold
All future steps
Yet to unfold.
For Nancy Merrill’s Photo a week challenge
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Long years had
Carved the stone
And cleaved to blue
The sky,
Yet puffy clouds
Still gawk as they
Meander
Idly by.
For the December Squares Challenge
Photo: Markus Spiske on Pexels.com
“There!” Angelo pointed.
“There what?” Payton panted
“There if you bother to lift your head.”
Payton scowled but was more occupied with getting oxygen into his lungs than wasting it on responses. He was sure that Angelo-The-Braggadocio had set the punishing pace deliberately to get him gasping. Not everyone climbed mountains for recreation!
The stitch in his side finally subsided enough to allow him to remove his fists from his thighs and straighten to take in the “amazing vista” Angelo had promised.
Dense fog. Vague tree tops. Milky air.
“There goes nothing,” Payton grouched.
Angelo chuckled and the saturated air softened the sound into something almost vulnerable.
Payton glanced at his friend. Glanced again. Was the wet on Angelo’s cheeks mist or liquid feelings?
“It is the perfect view,” Angelo murmured, his oft guarded face as open as a child’s. “To be inside Big Sky is to revisit Heaven.”
For What Pegman Saw: Big Sky Montana
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
It is time to make time
For the truth
Of what happened.
It is time to make space
For what some wished
Not be known.
It is time to take heed
Of the lengths went
To smother
The misdeeds and bad choices
So the fake
Will take hold.
It is time to revisit
Civic duty and justice
And refuse to permit
Free reign for hate,
Greed and lies.
It is time to return
To the truth.
For in fact it has long been
Well way past
The time.
Photo: Jan Genge via Upsplash
They ran around the metal that machines had bent
And right across the bend of time
Into handmade medieval.
For Three Line Tales
“Looks like a tennis ball on steroids,” Linda squinted at the gray blob.
Ethan rolled his eyes and turned the screen so it faced him again. “Definitely not a tennis ball.”
He shouldn’t have caved and showed her. Not that he ever did manage to withstand her pleading. Linda’s persistence could persuade a zebra to do away with its stripes.
“A cement globe?” She pressed.
Ethan shook his head.
“Am I at least getting warmer? Oh! Is it a post-global-warming thing?”
He sighed. It was hopeless. Might as well give it up.
“It’s Pluto, barely netted by the Sun.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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History of the Bloomingdale area on Manhattan's Upper West Side
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never judge a girl by her weight
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You have reached a quiet bamboo grove, where you will find an eclectic mix of nature, music, writing, and other creative arts. Tao-Talk is curated by a philosophical daoist who has thrown the net away.
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Na'ama Yehuda 
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