Alone #writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt

se-ilkley-2015-saturday-142

 

Mist has invaded the valley below, a diffused light veils the details of the landscape. But where am I? Where is this cliff? Is it day break, or dusk? Should I know this place, how did I get here, and how long have I been here, watching how many sunrises?

Finally, the real question arises from the clouds my mind appears to be surrounded with: where are you? The silence is total, this may not be my world, but what is it? Have I lost you, forever? A deep desperation creeps into my soul…

Close to me something, someone, stirs. So, I may not be alone?

“Another nightmare my darling,” you are saying, in the calm voice that always settles my fear, “You’re too hot, I’ll get you some water, and make coffee. You know it’s these drugs, a side effect, soon you’ll cope without them… And, by the way, I am here, you are not alone!”

Messenger #WritePhoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt

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I know he will come, one day, or, better, one beautiful evening, a calm, unhurried flight punctuated, at dusk, by the black birds’ song, and, even, if I am lucky a nightingale’s.

They know me, they know I admire them, and they keep looking down at that fragile, elderly silhouette, on my walks. Time is soon, of that I have no doubt, for I have seen the signs. So, one of them, I am sure, will be the Messenger.

When time comes I will welcome the Messenger, if not the message. After all, I had a long life.

Au Luxembourg #5Words

Weekly Writing Prompt #96

 

IMG_0086

 

She appears lost in thoughts,

Perhaps about the poor poet,

He who immortalised her…

We do not know where

She now lies, in peace.

Here, the card says “Laure”,

But he knew her as Laura,

So that there is a doubt,

As to whether she was the one

Who inspired him.

Here, in a press of children, of tourists,

She dreams among the queens,

And the senators,

Until her fall

 

Photo: statue de Laure de Sade, dite de Noves, par Auguste Ottin, Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris (Honoré Dupuis)

Twilight #Writephoto

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photoprompt

twilight

 

We stood at the edge of the woods, as our star was disappearing behind the hills, a move so swift it surprised us. Here, in the open, the air was much cooler, and you shivered a little as we watched, in awe, the waves of mist rising from the valley in front of us. The power of the spirits was palpable, and soon the white sea was engulfing the tips of the trees, masking our path.

Your pale, elfin face just visible in the deepening darkness, you looked at me and smiled, silently saying: “It takes two ghosts to be amazed by twilight!”

Control #TheDailyPost #MaiFeierTag

Today’s Prompt, May 2, 2017

IMG_20170501_122842267_HDR

As we approach the well known street, the crowd gets denser, perhaps quieter too, as if listening to itself. There are many people here, young and old, in pairs or small groups. The air is crisp and the sky peppered with cotton-like clouds. Will it rain? People chat, laugh, stop at little stalls that sell food and drinks. Some carry flags, or small hand-written panels that proclaim peace, or the end of time.

We walk hand in hand in this familiar city, our home. We stop at a band, listen for a few minutes, walk on. There are speeches, some photographers stand on ladders, for a better view of the human sea. More people are coming. Residents sit at their windows, admiring the show.

At the limits, barring motors to access the streets, stand the city police, calm, reflective, attentive. Girls smile. Little ones in push-chairs look at the sky. You look at me and say: “You see, this is a great holiday, and all is in control!”

Picture: Sunday morning, May 1, 2017, Brandenburger Tor (Honoré Dupuis) 

Instinct #WritersWednesday

The source of all wisdom…

IMG_20170315_120034503

 

You are away, the old instinct is awake, the walk in the park, a chill wind playing with dead leaves: my soul is hiding, without you… Crocuses shine, defiant, as clouds mask the sun.

You are away, I bathe in solitude, hunter no more, guessing at the dance in the skies, sacred world, surrounded by such beauty, sinner, well on his way to purgatory, or worse?

You are away: instinct prevails, the blank page stares at me, provoking, icy-cold.

The lake is alive, it’s just me: half way there, between heaven and hell.

Photo: Rehberge, Berlin

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