Circle #writephoto

Circle

circle-of-stones

 

They were six of them, and their leader may have been Galahad. There, they fought, back to back, from one dawn to the next, for days and nights, against the armies of Evil.

There they died, for, then, knights never surrendered. And there, the circle of stones remind us: the battle continues, and they watch us, puzzled, at times amused, more often annoyed. So much effort, for such so small people…

Summer #writephoto

Summer

summer

 

“It looks like cotton…” she said in a calm voice, “Only, there is no-one working here.”

The landscape was quiet, the never disturbed peace of late summer.

“And there is no shadow…” She added, with a sigh. Did she mean “shade”?

He looked up, toward the darker patches of green, beyond the meadow. Small white clouds leisurely walked the sky. He then looked down at his feet. It is then he realised what she had meant: they no longer had shadows…

They must have crossed the border, in this silence, from the land of the living, to the land of memories.

Time had stopped.

 

Track #writephoto

Track

passage

 

The tall trees shelter us from the heat, high above the still green leaves. The path is a ruler, one cannot go wrong. But the woods are silent, nothing stirs, and we know we are observed. Someone, somewhere, is counting our steps, deciphering our minds.

Soon, we will know.

Wishes #writephoto

Wishes

wishing-tree

 

They danced around the old stone, young and old, to the sound of pipes and drums, evoking ancient spirits, and secret deities. Then the elders had let the villagers hang the colours of their wishes, and he had waited a little while.

He wanted the spirits to grant him one favour. As he carefully bound the piece of red and white ribbon to the branch, he thought of Her, of the calm dark eyes that had held him in awe, of the unreal grace of Her face: he was only asking to see Her again, to speak to Her, to beg Her to accept him in Her kingdom.

Late hunting #fivewords

Weekly Writing Challenge #149

DSC_0128

It started with a gentle rain, as above the valley dark clouds shrouded the high mountain peak. Soon, there would be a downpour, when the narrow path would yield to the torrent of scree and icy water from the cliff.

Then, he might have a last chance to shoot, before nightfall, before this small world sunk into darkness. That was if he could find his prey.

Photo: Dolomiten, ©2013 Honoré Dupuis

 

door-template-instructions

Crossing #writephoto

Crossing

crossing

 

The shallow, clear water runs lazily between the rocks,

and the little islands of green life.

Oft we crossed the old bridge,

On our many walks, through this blessed land,

Observing, and being observed,

by creatures far more ancient, and wiser, than us.

Oft, we looked at our reflections in the mirror below.

Only, now, we only see the light of the sky,

for our images have been erased.

 

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