(Photo: Pierre Bamin on Unsplash)
When voice failed and
She could no longer
Think
She turned to
Ink
For words on velum
Scribbled
Fast
Translated
Into heart.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Ink in 22 words
Inked
Writing
Six Year Anniversary
So … the above just appeared in my notifications.
I stared at it a moment. Because, you see, I would’ve thought it was longer than six years. I also would’ve thought it couldn’t possibly have been six years already … Yet, there it is. Time doing the odd thing it knows to do as it spirals around.
Can’t ever hold on to time. It is a slippery thing, it is. Can hardly hold on to stats, seeing how they dance around. It is folly to try.
But I thought I would, anyhow, just for fun, post a snapshot of this moment in time. Even if it will change as soon as I post this, as soon as you see this, as soon as any one of you reacts or comments or clicks on this.
Still. Just because …
Here are a few stats:
- 1681 posts
- 5922 comments
- 115,515 views
- 72,111 visitors from practically every country in the world!
- 23,743 likes
- 921 followers
By the time your eyes rest on this, the numbers are already different … The values are not … Because the numbers have little meaning. Many blogs have more than this a day. Many more still have less. What does matter, to me, is you. That you read this. That you are part of this. That you matter. That you are you. You made this. With me.
I am especially moved that this little tiny sliver of a blog in the big vast space of the Internet, has had visitors from every corner of the globe. From countries large and small, from the smallest islands to the largest landmasses, from a multitude of cultures and languages and ways of life, from countries that we’re supposed to believe don’t get along, or won’t, or don’t care.
This is proof we do. Care. Because we are first and foremost humans. No matter where we were born, under what flag, to what faith or belief or upbringing, in what skin, to what family, to which doctrine. We all share this one home. We’re roommates on a blue marble hurtling through space. Equally precious. Equally worthy. We all are made of the same atoms. We breathe the same air. Drink the same water. Are tethered to the same core gravity. The same moon. Under the same sun. In the same cluster of souls riding the great vastness of Space.
So, you see, to me this little corner of the Internet — along with many others like it — is a window to our universality. To what we can be if we so choose. I’m honored. I’m humbled. I’m grateful to have the opportunity see through this window, through others’ windows, to have others look in through mine. To share light.
So, in this moment, and every moment, know that I am deeply thankful.
For you. For each and every one.
And I’m hopeful that we can, together … read more, write more, see more, share more, listen more, understand more, be more, be kind.
Share this:
Have Your Say
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
Make time to write.
A moment. A minute. An hour. A day.
Whatever you can find.
Make it yours.
Have your say.
Share this:
A New Dawn
Photo: Karen Forte
“…There’s a special beauty to the world resuming definition. I always loved pre-dawn and the gradual emergence of the world from under wraps of darkness. A hesitant light followed by a glorious brush of sunrise obliterating the black with oranges and yellows so bright you must look away and blink, only to find morning had arrived.
I walked faster now that I could see more of the ground in front of me. Brambles and tangled roots were easier to avoid and step over when I didn’t need to test every step.
Sunrise in the forest felt gentler than the ones I’d sat through on my porch. Not so much a blinding line of light across the sky as it was a filtering of color working its way from the canopies above and down the foliage, branches, trunks and finally the ground. Tired and worried, I still found myself mesmerized by the wonder of it all. Goosebumps covered my arms not only from the morning chill but also from something that felt almost like a memory: pink sky chasing blue across the ceiling of the world, the dazzled dance of dust along the shafts of molten, golden light. It felt familiar. Maybe I had seen a forest-sunrise during my own life’s dawn. …”
(Excerpt from “Outlawed Hope”)
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Sunrise
Share this:
Sailed Horizon
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
I will paddle into sunlight
Where the ocean
Kisses sky,
Where the sailboats’
Neat triangles
Patch the blue
With bits of pie.
For Nancy Merrill’s Photo A Week Challenge
Share this:
Row Ahead
Photo: Karen Forte
Row ahead
On the water
Toward shores
Yet to tread.
Hold on to
Oars that matter
To kind oaths
You have pledged.
Row abreast
With the others
Who ride forth
On life’s thread.
Share this:
Horse Spirit
Photo: Palaeolithic art at Foz Côa’s Archaeological Park, Portugal
“Why do you hit the rock with sharpened stones?”
Golin quaked under The Elder’s frown. It was forbidden to harm The Rocks That Shelter. The big stones protected them from biting teeth and snarling maws. They stopped the wind. They held back scorching sun. They reflected heat from fires.
And let flames paint shadows, Golin thought.
“He will drive away Horse Spirit and we will starve,” Morsen scowled predictably.
“Let him answer,” The Elder said.
Morsen seethed. The old man always favored Golin.
“The Rocks That Shelter do not anger when the fire lives in them,” Golin pointed at the dancing reflection on the wall.
“He makes no sense,” Morsen pouted. A few others nodded but The Elder’s stony gaze did not leave Golin’s face.
“They draw the fire near,” Golin stressed. Couldn’t they see? “Perhaps The Rocks That Shelter will welcome Horse Spirit and call it here.”
For What Pegman Saw: Douro, Portugal
Share this:
Pink For A Queen
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
There was a small patch
Of pink
In the large sea
Of green.
Flowers with
Heads together
Like bouquets
Fit for a queen.
For the September Pink Squares Challenge
Share this:
A Taste of Heights
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
“I can almost touch the moon!” she swung her arms in exuberance as the ride reached its apex and the spinning accelerated.
“I can almost touch last week’s dinner,” her sister croaked a white-knuckled response.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Taste, 35 words (original prompt)
Also see Sammi’s own updated take on the prompt
Share this:
In Case Of Rain
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
It was their anniversary, and once again he was late.
The office manager held him up for nonsense that could’ve easily waited for tomorrow. Mr. Billings often did so when Gary was in a rush. It was a cruel little game he played, knowing that with previous ‘insubordination’ records in his file, Gary could not afford even the slightest reprimand. No job, no health insurance.
His phone buzzed as he rushed to the restaurant. A text.
“Lost?”
Mary. Gary’s heart sank. He ran faster. His phone vibrated again.
“I’m under a blue umbrella. You know, in case of rain.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
You must be logged in to post a comment.