Gnomes

What wakes me up at five every morning? Is it light? Unlikely. Is it a noise? Maybe, but then it is very faint. Is it a dream? Possible.

But this morning I had another thought. Are “they” trying to tell me something? Are “they” telling me to go away? Have I disturbed them? Did they follow me? There are sure signs of disruption in the garden. I know, this is not unusual at this time of the year, squirrels bury things, flower pots get vandalised, foxes fool around, foul up the well swept terrace etc.

I sense a malificent presence. Are “they” observing me? Are “they” messing with my mind? Is old age, senility creeping?

Are they evil gnomes in the rampage around this place?

Image source: https://www.garden4less.co.uk/product/Gnome-with-Hammer-Stone

Glisten #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

shimmer

 

Is this you, running toward me, in the dying light of our star? Is it you, or your double, or your servant? I know it cannot be you, how much I wished it were. But I know: I lost you, eons ago, far away. Tonight I remember, the long voyage, the hopes, the battles. And you, your beauty, your strength, the knight this girl dreamed of. I see you, slaying the devils, archangel in a shiny armour. I see the broken sword.

And now this: a dying star, a dead sea. All hopes lost, so few of us left, waiting for the end, on the glistening sand.

Painted #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

painted

 

He painted on the large canvasses we now see in the Orangery Museum. A quiet man, who took the time to look at the light, the pale greens, the tender colours of the young plants. His garden is a spot for dreaming, thinking back to a time of peace. And then there is the gateway, the little painted bridge, an enigma, a sign, a parabole perhaps?

Where does it lead? Could it lead to you, wherever you are, surely painting, deep in thoughts, wondering. Yes, I see you now, in a secret part of your garden, where even ghosts tread carefully.

Claude Monet by himself

 

Together #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

sun-on-the-sea

 

We walk this path, distant but together, like shadows: our steps leave no mark on the wet sand, no-one is there to notice our shimmering shapes.

Silent we drink the light, our ethereal bodies need no other food; once, we were flesh and blood, perhaps, or is that a dream too?

Soon it will be dark, somewhere the star will rest, or shine over other wandering souls.

Light #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

snowy-dawn-ivinhoe-and-ashridge-111

 

In this blinding light, on such a bright morning, I seek your smile, a sign, even a shard of memory.

Where are you, in this, or another world?

Do the rays of our star still caress your skin?

Or are you now so far beyond, perhaps on an alien shore, watching another sun rise?

I have lost your trace, your scent, the feeling of your existence.

Night will come.

Bright #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

bright

 

Often we walked in those woods, you and me, when the bluebells shone, and the sky reminded us that Easter was close by. Today, the air is clear, the ground soft to our feet, as it was then.

“What is the difference?” we could ask. But we don’t. We both know. Our bodies have no shadows, we meet no-one, or rather, no-one meets us. We are invisible, though we still love these woods, the valley below, the old Roman villa nearby, the memories of our lives.

We hear voices too, far, far away: are they people we once knew? Or are they the dreams  of ancient ghosts, like us?

Being there, or here? #fivewords

Weekly Writing Prompt #177

mark-fernyhough-3

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

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.

On the threshold #fivewords

Weekly Writing Challenge #136

cropped-dsc_0323.jpg

 

As he stood on the threshold, he sensed how brighter the light was, on the other side. There lied all the secrets, the rich treasures of the past. He took one more step.

There was a faint taste of wood smoke in the dry, vibrating air. In his mind one question lingered: would he find his home?

Photo: ancient village in Northern Arizona, © 2015 Honoré Dupuis