Span #writephoto

Thursday photo prompt

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What we see, the beauty around us, the clear water, the trees… We do not have words, in your language, to express our admiration, no, our love for your world. Where we come from, but you could not start imagining what it means, there is no such beauty. I should say, there is no longer such beauty. You would understand why we have travelled for so long, so far.

So, we are here now, though you don’t know it yet. But you will, soon. You see, we have longed searched for a world like yours, still full of the marvels of nature. We know you are not worthy of it, and possibly, some of you know it as well. But it does not matter.

Across the universe you are not alone, to spoil the beauty, to destroy every gift you received, in the name of greed. Sheer stupidity. As those old stones, on the ancient bridge, can testify. Blinded by your own delusion, you don’t even sense that your end is nigh.

So, we are here now. Just in time. We will eliminate you, that is so easy, we will clear the damage, restore the earth and the oceans to their pristine state. We will plant trees. For we are small, but immensely strong, we do not need much to live on, and leave no trace. We are the future of this world, and of all its other inhabitants. We are your Nemesis.

Water #TheDailyPost

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

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From the Wassertor, the watergate, we walked slowly, hand in hand, along the bank of the old canal, and reached the Engelbecken, the angels’s lake. You looked at the sky, then at me: I understood, no need for word. Sunlight vibrated through the little fountains, antic roses shone on the brick walls.

The water reflected our thoughts, deep down ancient spirits awoke, to remind us that time is the great healer.

We found our place, and we knew it would take time for the dream to be realised…

Photo: Engelbecken, Berlin Luisenstadt, © 2016 Honoré Dupuis

#DailyPrompt: Oil, Meet Water

LumièreWe stopped on the path, near the canal, our preferred running lane in Faust’s metropolis, under the chestnut trees. The air was already much cooler, prelude to the cold wind that soon would blow from the plains of Poland and beyond.

“You’re getting too good for me,” I said, nearly out of breath, with the smile of a slightly puzzled male, faced with exquisite female beauty, and superior strength in one.

You smiled and blew a kiss: “Come on, I have to justify your admiration, and, besides, were we not a bischen different it would not work would it?” With the Köpenick accent, how could I ever resist you?