Thursday photo prompt
There, long ago, when we had space, and the air was pure, there we lived: us, the whole tribe, the children, the very old, the wise and the fools. At night we were safe, the sea protected us. We had many friends, and few enemies. We were poor, and strong.
The cave was our home, where we lived, loved, and died. The world wasn’t ours, but we knew our place, and this place was here, on the threshold. Far beyond was eternity.
Thursday photo prompt
Overwhelmed by sorrow, he called for his guardian angel. She came at once, and took him to the cliff to watch the sunset, just the two of them. All at once calmed, reassured, he looked up to her smiling face: then she said: “I know, you feel lonely, but in truth you are lucky, you had more love than most mortals, and maybe you did not always deserve it…”
“Now is time for you to give grace, for your life, for the children you were given, for this sunrise… And for me to come to you, as I saw your distress.”
He felt on his knees, but she insisted he stood, side by side with her, and he felt her searching his mind, destroying the demons and the false hopes.
“Of course you will die, when your time comes. For now, look at the star rising, feel the warmth, feel my hand on your shoulder, and don’t wallow in self-pity. I will come back when it is your turn…”
He felt her lips on his, her presence, and then she was gone. Alone he watched the dawn of a new day.
Weekly Writing Prompt #175
charcoal, shade, pale, wake, lucid
The rain fell, almost silent, but she could hear the little stream, outside, through the open window. She called the instant the lucid wake: those minutes before the first signs of the pale dawn. Then, everything is clear, the events of the past days in sharp relief, as if lit from inside. His smile, the fire on the beach, the shade under the pine trees, the smell of charcoal. But this wasn’t yesterday, it was years ago, her already distant past. And then it had been Summer…
Then the wine had tasted better, the air cleaner, the waves softer. His skin was like the sun itself. Where was he now? The lucid wake: she was alone, all fires long dead.
She could hear the little stream. Winter would end, another Spring would come.
Image source: https://wallpapersafari.com/winter-beach-scenes-wallpaper/
We walk hand in hand in the peace of the morning. The river flows and reminds us of times past. We haven’t forgotten, but we have forgiven. For us, forgiveness has long been our way to give thanks. After all, the monsters are dead and we are alive, at least alive enough to admire the blue sky reflected in the calm water.
Low tide: it is as if the world, the ocean, had wanted to withdraw, to retire, at the other end, on the other side, perhaps to another galaxy.
The written words cannot be erased, nor the broken promises forgotten.
The heroes have gone, their shadows melted…
faraway, in an unknown land,
only remains the sound of small waves, lashing the rocks.
The woods are asleep, all is immobile, and silent, under the searing heat. Well, not all. For the unforgiving eye is there, ensuring nothing escapes. For this is our fate: we have plundered and polluted our world, and, now, we will pay the price.
A silent sweep above the early Summer moor, a flash of light, and she’s gone…
I felt the soft flutter, an angel flew by me, clueless mortal, accident of organic chemistry…
We waited for the storm, the lightning, the thunder,
But it did not come, instead, the sky behind the hills
In one brief instant, was alight, as if the true God
Wanted to warn us: the glorious sunset reminded us
That we are nothing without Mother Earth.
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.
Weekly Writing Prompt#131
In the morning he could sense the imminent thaw, the passing of the artic air, of nature on her guard. His aim, now, was to lose the dark spirit of winter, find the strength to believe, to resume the dream.
For death, he knew, is not the end of life, but the necessary gate to a new one…