Being there, or here? #fivewords

Weekly Writing Prompt #177

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leaf, home, alter, light, front

There, she knew well, it was her home, her friends, where she’d met him. Here, was another leaf, both of them now almost past the light, an alter-life she did not understand, even feared a little, however familiar she was with the language, the everyday words. Indeed this was different, in a way she had not expected. She did not know where to be, there was her past, and much happiness, here was the unknown, only clouds in front of her. But him, did he know?

Image: ©2019 Mark Fernyhough, The Berlin Architecture Series, Kaltblut Magazine

“Suspicious, but still benign…”

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When they left the S-Bahn station a thin drizzle was falling on the deserted sidewalks of Wedding. It was about 1:30 in the morning, there was hardly any traffic, dawn was still some hours away. They were tired of carrying their luggage: it had been a long journey, all the way from the other side of the other capital… But home was now very close!

On the plane they had celebrated with a half-bottle of half-cooled champagne, just happy to have made it, through the grid-locked roads, the late and overflowing trains, the idiotic obstacle course through duty-free (!) at the airport.

As usual, they felt happy to be back, under a sky that meant, for them, peace and love.

And then there was that diagnosis: something not right, but not so wrong that they should worry, for now. They were not going to, as they had long learnt that being suspicious was an attribute of free people. And so it went for these cells inside him, and their mysterious behaviour.

As she opened the door, they kissed. This was not their last trip.

Picture: ancient bell, Invaliden Friedhof, Berlin Mitte, ©2017 Honoré Dupuis

Afrikanische Straße

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I leave the lutheran bells ringing clear, behind, the sky a dull lead blanket, but soon I see the green shoots: Nature, the knowing lover, is holding them back, in this chilled Sunday morning, as if to moderate our impatience. She knows how to prolong the foreplay, make us wait, nurse our lust, dream of future ecstasies.

The park is silent, even the birds talk in polite, muted voices. A few runners, the dog walkers, I must be the only tramp. The lake lies still, its waters not yet enticing: the beach is deserted, but for a couple of philosophical ducks. An old crucifix stands, alone, reflecting on a better, perhaps even, glorious past. Yesterday’s winds have covered the ground with small, brittle branches, it may rain soon.

The cool bier goes down so well, a not-quite-Spring treat, solitary pleasure. Some youths walk past, so quiet, survivors of some late Saturday’s party. I take my bulk further north, to the limit of the park; on the other side of the motorway lies the airport. The grumble of sparse traffic can be heard, faintly. The sport grounds are busy, with the serious shouts of enthusiastic soccer players. More dogs are entertaining their mistresses, bored, probably wondering about the human mind . The rain has started its cool morning exercise.

There are two small ponds before the street: I am back in Africa now. I follow Afrikanische for a short while, turn left on Transvaal: where else could I walk in a few minutes across thousands of miles? When I cross over Togo, the pavement is shiny with rain. Soon I find Kameruner: I am home. Girls are walking back to their nests, carrying bread.

Back to my space, I carefully recycle the beer bottle. Bless this city, and its inhabitants.

Image: Samuel Araya, via aeszaaesza.tumblr.com

Vegetal #DailyPrompt

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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They surround us, little by little: first on the balcony, an array of dark greens and colourful shoots, but also in the living room – ha what a space for us! – the Peace Lily (Spathiphyllum) and one other (Ficus Ali), all good for the air we breath! Then there are the little ones, squeezed between windows, nesting comfortably against the rigour of the eastern winter. We shall wait for their arrival for Christmas.

We will have more, as we believe in their power. No Triffid, of course, only the friendly and beneficial type!

Image: Peace Lily (Spathiphyllum cochlearispathum), Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens, Tasmania, Australia Camera data Camera Canon EOS 400D Lens Tamron EF 180mm f3.5 1:1 Macro Focal length 180 mm Aperture f/8 Exposure time 1/3 s Sensivity ISO 100 ~ By JJ Harrison (jjharrison89@facebook.com) – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link

Base #DailyPost #amwriting

Today’s Prompt

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Our place is hard to get to, but so cosy when one gets there! The word “Raum” is just right to qualify the space, the light, the feeling of freedom. And what a view! The tree-lined avenue, the park, the eagle high in the corner house (as a matter of fact, early mornings may witness aerial and apparently friendly combats between crows and buzzards…)

And then there is so much life, down below. We follow the daily changes to the flow of people and traffic, the seemingly random patterns, the interference of lights and colours, the sounds of the City.

In the meantime the book is waiting, the characters slowly waking to their new surroundings, or is it THE surroundings? As if they emerged from a deep dream. Soon, soon now, this work is going to restart, anew.

Copycat #DailyPrompt

Today’s #DailyPost

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Today a fine rain is settling over the City. Sounds are muted, passersby seek shelter, or hurry to finish their errands. I walk to the store, and as expected, find everything I am looking for.

Slowly I am blending in the greyness of this late autumn: looking around, I feel that, step by step, I am more and more like all the others: alien no more.

Ostwind #Oktober #Berlin

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After ten days in Brexland, now a country of much baffled confusion, but, for us, a land of many friends and memories, we took the road back home. Since September, the trees have changed colour, and a cool East wind blows through the wooded vales, across the lakes and through the busy streets. Berliners know how to dress for a chill (the real thing is still to come), no shorts and T-shirts here, but stern pullovers and good parkas.

So, we will gear up for our first Berlin winter, the new opera season, cool jazz, good films, art and joie de vivre. The bikes will be serviced, the car garaged. Soon we’ll back to the gym and the morning jogs in Schiller Park.

Bless the city of Faust.

Photo: Joseph Beuys, das Kapital Raum, 1980 – Staatliche Museum zu Berlin, National Galerie, Sammlung Marx

#FiveSentenceFiction: Home

Safe She walks slowly down the wide staircase, the morning sunlight shimmers on the stones of the hall down in front of her.

The house is quiet, luminous, the air is cool, a soft light wind comes through the open front door, outside the sky is a deep blue above the hills.

She now stands under the porch, the young woman working in the garden notices her, waves, smiles and blows a kiss: she’s suddenly aware of a presence behind her.

She turns her head as he seizes both her hands, pulling her gently against him, she senses his strength under the incredibly light touch, as she falls in his arms, in awe, she remembers last night: her scarred naked body shivering, exhausted, the warmth she had felt, lying between them two, brother and sister, protecting her.

Her lips open she yields to his hold, her face upturned, as he says in his deep melodious voice: “You’re home my darling, there is nothing to fear anymore.”

Mother Earth

Do not insult Her, for She may not forgive ~ and then we will die in the blackness and silence of space…

 

Wings Over Waters


She is vast, beautiful like a constellation.
She and I are made up of the same stars.

If you could search her eyes
you would see a whole universe swirling there.

Being a part of her is like riding on a spaceship,
watching as the moon shines like a disco light.

Don’t try to harm her. She’ll become destructive.
Her storms are wild and restless.
Inside she is a fragile chemistry set.

I wish to hug her to me, keep her safe,
but she’s too big to wrap my arms across.

Her seas are endless. She holds life in a pulsating fist.
Her secrets carry on the wind. Her breath is my breath.

 

©2013 Louise Hastings

A belated Earth Day poem 🙂

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