I think I know where the path leads. Hence, I take small, measured, premeditated steps with a strategy. The gaps between the trunks and leaves show glimpses of the sky, and am imagined destination. Yes, the sky is where I want to reach. A turn, a stone and a fall --- and I am in … Continue reading Endings
Loved this. The heart remains sad sometimes ….
five years of practice.
my mind finally still
enlightenment finds me
but my heart remains sad
For In Other Words
two hemispheres of the brain four chambers of the heart life is not singular symmetrical beauty sometimes a dream In other words, heart at Patricia's Place
Here's a Reverse Etheree belief grows from a need for rootedness old and new do not always connect imposed expectations challenge emergence of new systems life for those starts with fighting the old the past is dead release it let it go Weekly Tanka Poetry Prompt Challenge by Elsie Hagley
I never throw rose petals away, even after the flowers have wilted. The extracted goodness of the petals goes into my skincare regime, and the softness lives on. The ones I immersed in water today started bleeding purple. It was the artificial color sprayed on the petals by the florist. The rose stem looked askance … Continue reading Appreciation
The intensity of this blew me off…
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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
ABIGAIL’S ROSE
Weary from tending her feverish child, she sank into her rocking chair. The baby, who had howled with pain most of the night, finally calmed. Abigail Adams caressed her daughter’s silky head and kissed her cool cheek.
“Sleep, now, my sweet Suky.”
Suky’s four-year-old sister tiptoed into the room. Abigail stopped rocking and held out a hand to her. “Can you not sleep, Nabby?”
“I dreamt the angels plucked a rose from our garden.” Nabby patted the baby’s back. “Is she feeling better…
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life emerges from deep hibernation, looks like spring offshoots of my buried, frozen dreams? I still mourn the ones I lost Haikai Challenge #22 by Frank J. Tassone
This is not how I was born. A genetic identity was in place, but genes are oh-so-mutable. Each experience and how I stored it in memory defined me, each interaction drew a response, and defined a personality, each moment flung me into the future. How much of it can be programmed into a robot? This … Continue reading Human Destiny
criss-cross lifelines squirting red fluid pumping station to fuel activity cleansing purifying oxygenating overpowered by futile poetic imagination Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox
repainted stories complexity of layers baffles sunlight #writephoto
