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.
Have Your Say
Writing
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
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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
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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
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It’ll Do
Photo: Nathan Wright via Unsplash
Never mind the mildew and dirt, the echoes in corridors of sad stories they knew.
There’ll be roof over heads and a shelter for those who lost all yet pulled through.
We will clean it all up. Make a home for these kids. It’ll do.
For Three Line Tales, Week 137
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Haphazard Town
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
One does not need a plan
To get lost
In this new town
She thought
Right before
She did.
For The Weekend Writing Prompt: Haphazard
Dedicated to my friend F.C. who at least had the wherewithal to call the local cavalry …
