Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
On the cusp between
The wild
And the
Cultured
Weeds puff heads
Toward incoming
Clouds.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Field
Fielded
Writing prompt
After The Fire
Photo: Dvora Freedman
After the fire
Come the expelled breath
Of sorrow,
The stripped soul
Of Earth,
The charred remains
Of dreams,
And the held breath
Of hope.
For the dVerse challenge: Fire
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Aladdin’s Ally
PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen
He didn’t find it yet, but failure was just motivation to keep trying.
People said playing the lottery was folly. Yet some people won that … and laughed all the way to the bank.
He wasn’t going to let those of little faith dissuade him.
Sure, let them think he was into antique oil and kerosene containers. It kept badgering to a minimum and lent him some credibility in scouting flee markets.
No one needs to know that what he’s really after, is an authentic genie lamp.
He’ll find it, and laugh all the way to the bank.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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Till The Cows Come Home
Photo: Atara Katz
Trudge on home
In the dampness,
Put the hooves
To slush and ice.
Dream of warmth,
Of troughs of oats,
The dry barn filled
With hay so nice.
For Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge: Cold
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Cool Contact
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
Held afloat
You safely hover
Over a pebbled
Burbling stream,
As you reach
To touch
The shimmer
And delight
In your smile beams.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Contact
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No Chicken, No Egg.
Photo: An Errant Knight @ Wikimedia Commons
“The sign says not to hike beyond this point.”
“Signs can’t talk,” Jerry guffawed, “and anyway, that’s just legal butt-covering.”
Robert looked at the icy terrain. It looked awfully slippery. It was getting late and they still needed to hike back. He didn’t think they should continue. He also hated being Nagging Grandma. He shrugged.
Bennett elbowed him and pushed to the lead. “Well, I’m no sissy. All the fun’s up there. Road less traveled and all that.”
Robert’s neck warmed at the insult. Bennett always had to make things a competition, including who was Jerry’s ‘real’ friend and who the fifth-wheeler.
“You coming or you chicken?” Bennett sniggered.
“Last one up’s a rotten egg!” Jerry grinned.
The two barreled ahead.
Robert trudged below them, full of dread.
Later he would wonder how to tell their parents that chicken and rotten egg were the last words they ever said.
For What Pegman Saw: Bridal Veil Falls, Utah
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Night Light
Photo: Amitai Asif
“Almost there!” she sighed.
What had been an orange halo of illumination at the horizon of their climb finally crystalized into evidence of habitation.
She could hear Merri’s labored breath behind her.
“Not long now,” she cajoled to mask her wariness.
Will they be welcomed or will they be turned out again? The other two places were small towns. This was a big city. Perhaps they could blend in. Hide in plain sight.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Illumination in 73 words
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Angels’ Winds
Photo: Karen Forte
The air pristine
On angels’ winds,
Unspoiled by what
Mans’ hands can bring.
In feathered clouds
And oceans’ swing,
It heralds surf
Of joy within,
To mark the waves
With dance that gleams,
And breathes along
A song to sing
For all that dreams.
For the dVerse quadrille challenge: Spoiler
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Crowned Castle
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
“It doesn’t matter where you live,” they said.
She knew they lied. It most certainly did!
When rain leaked onto your mattress and the wind snuck in through the window and mice crawled over your cheek in the middle of the night, it more than mattered.
“The only thing that matters is who you are,” they said.
Perhaps. But what good was it being a princess if your room was drafty and the tower creaked and the stairs were grooved with age and slippery with sloshed-over chamber-pots?
She’d swap her chamber for a page’s pallet by the hearth, if she could.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Castle in 100 words
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Hold The Rainbow
Photo credit: April Pearson
She’s always loved rainbows. Even if they’d signaled more endings than beginnings and more lost pots of golden dreams than she could count. Perhaps that’s why rainbows were so colorful: They distracted you from the fact that they weren’t much more than a trick of light, air distorted through the sheen of still held tears. Would double rainbows herald double sorrow or a chance at joy?
“I wanna hold it, Mama!”
She glanced down at the curly head and her eyes followed the small hand that pointed at the docks across the narrow inlet. “I wanna hold it!”
“You can’t hold a rainbow, Marly.”
The finger remained trained on the colorful arch, and Laurie didn’t needs to see the toddler’s face to know the little girl was scowling. She recognized the full-body-speak from memories in her own bones.
“Come.” She bent and scooped the child into her arms. She was going to make sure life was different for this one. “Such a pretty rainbow, isn’t it? We can’t hold it, but I can hold you, and,” she reached into the go-bag that held everything they still possessed since they escaped, “you can hold your unicorn.”
For the Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge
Na'ama Yehuda 
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