Category: #writephoto

Turrets #writephoto

Turrets

pinnacle

 

When we left – how long ago was it? – it was summer. As we look over the tall trees, disappearing through the dark, icy air, we know that, here, wherever “here” is, it’s winter. But we don’t feel the cold, we just know it is.

Through the foliage covered with snow, the vision of a dream-like castle, its spires and turrets, appears, emerging from the mist. Is it a dream, or a nightmare? Are we lost, have we taken the wrong turn, on whatever road we followed?

Are we elsewhere? When did we leave the warmth and light of our city? This world is grey, and, now, we cannot guess what horrors await us.

1

Avenue #writephoto

Avenue

avenue

 

Under the bright green canopy we do not feel the heat of the day, nor do we venture in the full light. You and I merely enjoy the peace, the remoteness from the living. Far away, we hear children playing, perhaps even the notes of a violin, invisible, beyond the orchard.

We have lived nearby, in a house full of memories, ours and many others’, who may have forgotten us. For we have escaped time, as we replay those cherished moments in silence, our puzzled, ethereal ghosts haunting this land forever.

4

Fallen #writephoto

Fallen

fallen

 

For millennia they stood, tall and proud guardians of the hills. Humans, and smaller animals, sought refuge at their feet. Much later, villagers danced around them, and celebrated sunrise, touching the smooth stone for luck and prosperity. No-one knew what spirits, or forces of nature, had erected them, long, long ago, when the earth was young.

Then the floods came, washing away much of the ancestral soil, and the ground had given under their weight: tired after all, they’d fallen slowly to the ground, as if punished by the gods for their pride.

Now, the sleeping giants lay, silent, surrounded by ferns and the quiet voices of young trees. The earth is again at peace, humans, and smaller animals, still come here to rest at their feet.

4

Ascent #writephoto

Ascent

spiral

 

Inside was a blissful, cool darkness. As we stepped in, and the heavy door closed behind us without a sound, we admired the immaculate spiral staircase, and wondered. How long would we have to wait, and, perhaps, how far would we have to climb, before meeting the master of the house?

It was so quiet we dared not speak a word. Sun rays filtered through the curtained windows. The sparse furniture was polished to the extreme, the mirrors on the walls seemed to be veiled – or was it our imagination?

There was only one way to go, and this was upstairs. We looked at each other, and smiled: we hadn’t got thus far to abandon our visit. After all we were invited. We were invited, even though we did not know where the invite came from…

We were young, and beautiful, what did we have to fear?

We took the first step, and you took my hand. It seemed that the house had gone a little darker. You went first, I, as ever, following, it was not the first time we’d ignored a warning…

13

Splash #writephoto

Splash

splash

 

We loved the sound of the big stone falling into the clear water, we loved the endless ripples, afterwards, in the little pool. The light reflected on the sharp green ferns, the fresh grass, as the whole nature spelt: Spring!

We were young, we got wet, we looked at our reflections, as if our future would suddenly appear, as the water surface went back to a calm mirror.

Sometime we saw shadows, behind our smiling faces, as if ghosts awaken by the splash had come up to check who dared disturb the peace…

6

Waiting #writephoto

Waiting

waiting

 

The walls, the stone floor, the sharp edges of shadow, everything here invites the pilgrim to wait: there is no rush.

This is an antechamber, a place for the soul to reflect, for the mind to accept.

The journey may take a day, or a year, or a thousand years, at the end, time no longer flows: it is just now, forever.

If you have come thus far, friend, leave behind any doubt you may have: in front of you, in these long corridors, is infinity.

2

Footprints #writephoto

Footprints

footprints

 

We love the long walks, along the shore, the closeness of the sea, the flying birds, the wet land and the immense skies. I watch your steps, the wind blowing your hair, I see you as one with the earth, the waves, the clouds.

I know we will be tired at the end of the day, and yet, we stop and watch: the reeds spelling their ancient story, the cries of seagulls, the bright colours of sand poppies.

For we know: once, long ago, we came from the sea, and our footprints in the wet sand just remind us of that long love story.

8

Valley #writephoto

Valley

mist-at-sunrise

 

Soon all will be shrouded in darkness, or is her sense of light and shadow, of day and night now irremediably confused? After so long in space this would not be surprising, and what did they say on the training range? “When you’re landed, don’t expect to adjust without pain!” Slowly, the navigator removes the oxygen mask, then her helmet. Her long red hair is still held back, before she can relax she will have to wait and feel how she bears gravity on this planet. Her suit’s instruments said that the atmosphere was breathable. Perhaps the radioactivity level is on the high side for a planet with so few people around…

At least that is what her briefing said. She looks at the star sinking into the luminous clouds, on the horizon. “Earth sunsets can be stunning,” said the brief, “their atmosphere is saturated with thin particles of dust. It is not known if this is the result of volcanic eruptions, or of a human-made disaster, which may also explain the sparsely inhabited continents…”

8

Up ↑