#writephoto

Entrance #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

portal

 

In the depth of the cave lies a long hidden secret, visible only to the initiated: to those who truly love this land, who have ploughed its fields, nurtured its trees and respected all that lives here. The secret tells them where to hide, how to protect their children and how to honour their ancestors.

The initiated know that the invaders will come, again, as they did in the past, hate and fury, rage to destroy. But they will be, again, defeated, as were the others before them and the ones who will come after them.

For deeper still, lies the Magus, who will awake, at the sound of the horn, when the land is violated. Fear his wrath, as he avenges those who were slain by the Evil, and the corpses of the invaders line up the roads all the way back whence they came.

Keep #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

keep

 

It may surprise you, no doubt, but I am still here. Yes, in this old keep. It has been my home, all these centuries, since the fatal siege that killed most of my people. Well, most of them, not all. You see, below the keep is a long tunnel. Its access could be easily blocked. At the other end is the sea. We had plenty of provisions, all the weapons we could use, we survived for years. As you can see, from here I could look at the traitor, over there, in what was our tower. One clear morning, that was before we collapsed the entrance to our domain, I killed him, one careful shot from my longbow. Ha ha! That was a kick in the ants nest. They tried everything, water, fire, poison… It was too late for them.

So, you may well ask. What did we do all these years? Well, you know your history, or rather what they, and their ‘historians”, told you. The usurpers stayed. We occasionally went out and killed a few of their mercenaries, but this was hopeless. The people were terrified. We lived from fishing, a little hunting, which was more dangerous. My companions died, one by one. I held their funeral at sea, during the night. Finally, I was on my own. More years passed. I am still here. I don’t think anyone can see me, but I have no idea what I look like, now. By the way don’t trust those images of me in museums: I know they made me look awful. As they say, the victors write history, and have pictures made of their victims.

Not that I see myself as a victim any longer.

Presence #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

stones-old

 

They stand, silent, immobile, or so it seems. It looks as if time never flows, as if, for them, there is no beginning, and no end.

But there is. Their role is to bear witness. So they listen, observe, remember. One day, perhaps far into our future, even past us, even after we have gone, they will report, on this evolutionary incident.

They are Gaia’s sentinels.

Offering #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

offering

 

Time has now come. I expect her, I have long expected her, and, now, I know she’s there, close to the gates. She bears the chalice. From it, I will drink, to the last drop.

And so, the prophecy will be fulfilled, the order restored, the gods appeased.

Do I regret anything? I had a long life, known many winters, and so many springs: so much ice, so much sand, I hear the sound of bells.

She’s there, at my door, they tell me.

I know she’s beautiful, their messengers always are. I take a last look, out of the window of my room, at the far away hills, just touched by moonlight.

So many seas, so many mountains.

Time has come.

 

Angel #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

christmas

 

You raised your arms, the dove looks about to fly away. The world is at peace, your smile reassures all of us. The small flame vacillates, one short instant. The warm light plays in your hair. How we admire your face, the beautiful eyes that greet all of us.

For we are afraid, and seek your protection. The donkey looks at you, just to make sure you understood: your people need you.

Shimmer #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

between

 

“So, this is it, that small island?”

His mind was wandering, as he started looking for the boat.

“Don’t worry, he will turn up, he never misses an appointment.”

The sun came out from behind the dark clouds. It was a beautiful place, silent, peaceful.

At last he said:

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course, I am familiar with the place, and I always stay with my friends for the crossing…”

At last he looked at me, and recognised me.

I helped him on the boat. The lake was a mirror, reflecting the tall cypresses on the Island of the Dead, in the shimmering light.

Afar #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

afar

 

“Thus, what you are saying is that for years the government has had this beautiful valley reserved to store nuclear stuff?”

“Well, first of all, none of this is to reach the media, do you understand? This is highly sensitive material, and everything would be denied anyway…”

“Okay, but you said there were several wells drilled, in the valley and atop these hills, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we want you to understand why your proposal is not acceptable.”

“Well, what was the purpose of those wells?”

“It’s what I told you already, initially, it was to see if the ground was suitable for storing depleted uranium rods. Geologically the location seemed perfect, very old rocks, stable, no record of tremors since records began… well away from populated centres…”

“But, you said, drilling was abruptly terminated, when was this?”

“It does not matter, we just want you to understand why your plan to build that golf course is simply not on. Besides, you already know the whole valley, and those hills, are now guarded by the ministry of defence… but don’t publicise this!”

“So, what happened?”

“Let’s say that what is below this landscape, deep down, is a state secret. It’s only because of who you are that I am telling you this.”

“You must tell me more, I want, I need a reason to give this up.”

“We could simply tell you that this is a nature reserve, a site of exceptional beauty, and indeed it is, and will remain so.”

“What is it?”

“It’s classified, but I have been authorised to say this: there is a structure, down there, at a depth of about one hundred meters, and it’s protected by a dome.”

“A dome, made of what? What structure?”

“This is classified, we are still measuring and probing.”

“And how old is that thing?”

“I can’t tell you, other than it is very old, extremely old, even.”

“And you expect me to swallow this story?”

“I am sorry, Sir, but you will have to believe me, or not, but that’s it.”

“One bit of proof!”

“Yes, I was also allowed to give you this: an estimate of the size of the underground structure.”

“And?…”

“It’s about as large as ten football fields.”

“And do you know what the dome is made of?”

“It’s classified. But it’s metallic.”

Light #writephoto

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Thursday photo prompt

snowy-dawn-ivinhoe-and-ashridge-111

 

In this blinding light, on such a bright morning, I seek your smile, a sign, even a shard of memory.

Where are you, in this, or another world?

Do the rays of our star still caress your skin?

Or are you now so far beyond, perhaps on an alien shore, watching another sun rise?

I have lost your trace, your scent, the feeling of your existence.

Night will come.