Weekly Writing Challenge #167
Their clear voices rose above the valley, as the bell called the novices to practice. They were there to serve, to prepare for the day when they might be accepted, but none of them had any clue as to what they would have to endure.
Picture: South Portal of Chartres Cathedral, Martyrs, By Medieval sculptor – photo TTaylor, 2005, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=888289
Weekly Writing Prompt #166
We will rehearse our roles, as we stand up in good order. You, of course, will pose as the priestess, she who knows how to read the flow of time, as I blend in the multitude.
Picture: Naumburger Dom, West Choir, founders, Markgräfin Uta
Weekly Writing Challenge #164
The artist drew the small horns, atop the hideous wings, but we have to notice the hooves. The fallen angel turns his gaze toward the snake, an act of sheer despair in the desolate landscape: the gate of Paradise is shut.
Image: Paradise lost, by Gustave Doré (Paradise Lost or James Donahue) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Weekly Writing Challenge #163
Who will defend the fragile stem, the green line that rises from the sand, in the desert so close, and yet so far away?
Picture: Wikimedia, “Adenium obesum” also known by the names “Sabi Star, Kudu, Mock Azalea, Impala Lily & Desert-rose” – – Own work, 5 April 2010
Weekly Writing Challenge #162
The lock we picked,
a small step we took
in our past…
Now our numb mind
can only hear the sound
of the ancient clock
Weekly Writing Prompt #161
We can no longer tour the City as it was, and yet, in the dawn hour, we can chase its ghosts. For we ourselves change, under its spell, and we too evolve into something of the past, an obscure picture in the dust of Time.
Inspired by the Secret Keeper’s prompt, and Babylon Berlin
Weekly Writing Prompt #159
I confess I have never been a sun worshipper. Red meat on a dry rack, sorry, beach, does not inspire me. Perhaps is it a question of name? Summer, Sommer, sommaire, echoes of summary… Execution? I long for Autumn, for the fresh smell of wet ground, for the scent of pine trees, at last drinking the dawn dew. I love the way the temperature drops at night… sweet dreams.
I long for the rain, for the gift of rain, falling on the parched earth, for the sound of rain drops on the lake. Solace.
Photo: Herbst Regen, source
Weekly Writing Prompt #158
Some, they say, are oblivious of danger, and survive by luck.
Not I, for, long ago, I arrived at this conclusion:
stay in your hut,
and learn the age-old truth,
once warned, never surprised.
Photo: Liepnitzersee in September, © 2018 Honoré Dupuis
Weekly Writing Prompts #157
Vale of Tears,
Time has come –
Truth will be known,
to our Hearts’ content!
Hack this, you fools…
Weekly Writing Prompt #156
What to ask of the waning Moon?
Where to watch the drifting Sands?
I will pursue You
to the ending Time…
Image: Michael Najjar, Sands of Mars, source: wired.com