welcome readers & writers. first, a big thank you to all of this week's posters! writing with you has been a joy. welcome new posters: d_c_ bader, m, damon, ash and brian. thanks also to you regulars - filmguy, pauline, brian (with 4 posts this week you get to be a newbie and a regular!) and de langer (has anyone noticed how de langer's stories are building on each other? awesome! it may be the start of a best selling novel right here on this blog). missing some of our early posters: sunny, megahloo, stacy, abFab & alison. hope to see ya'll soon.
***
i'm excited to introduce a new feature - photog fridays. i'm quite the amateur photographer, so when my friend beth sent me the above photo and asked if i would try to tell its story, i realized what fun it would be to have a guest photographer on the blog each friday. he or she will email me a photo. i'll title it and write a story about it - as will you other writers. i'm excited to have a number of gifted photographers lined up for the next few weeks! if you would like to submit your own photo - or if you know a photographer willing to contribute a photo - just send me a direct message via twitter, google friend connect, or email: writeawayeveryday [at] gmail [dot] com. without further ado - thank you beth forma for this gorgeous photo. here's my take on it:Nonny and the girl make their way down to the field. Nonny's gnarled hands clutch their picnic basket, filled with the fruits of a morning's labor - German potato salad, fried green tomatoes, hardboiled eggs and peach cobbler. Fresh milk for drinking. The young one hugs a neatly folded threadbare quilt. They stop to rest a few times; though the path from the farmhouse is worn smooth from countless years of weekly treks, Nonny isn't nearly as strong as she used to be, at least not physically. In her spirit she's wizened and warm, grateful for a multitude of blessings - as only one who's lived through a depression, recessions, world wars, assassinations, and - by chance and design, more unexpected firsts than she could begin to name - can be. The roots of Nonny's character reach deep into the soil of this land on which she was born, where her own grandparents struggled to make their way, where her parents stood to marry in this same misty field. Nonny's own children bring their young ones to the farm every week, and she visits the field with each one. On this day with this, her youngest grandchild, she settles onto the quilt. As Nonny unpacks the basket, she revels in her granddaughter's bubbly stories, clinging to the fresh green hope in them. And when tears blur her vision such that she can no longer see to lay out their feast, Nonny pauses. Hearing the fragile yelps of baby eagles their nest above, she pulls up a corner of her old apron, smiles and wipes her eyes.
-
what about you? let's give beth a treat and show her what reflections (stories, poems or creative non-fiction) can spring from her beautiful photo. submit your writing below by clicking on comments. 250(ish) words or less; come write with me! 
“Where is everyone? I'm sure they said it was going to start today.”
ReplyDeleteCaw looked around. He was able to see the whole valley from here and there was no sign of anyone. “Did I get the wrong day? The wrong time? The wrong tree?” he thought to himself.
He had been looking forward to this all week and now he was getting a bit anxious. “And I cleaned my feathers especially!!” he moaned. He tried to remember the conversation but he had been so excited to have been asked along to his first sky trek he was wondering if he had misheard a detail or two.
No; it was definitely the lightening tree, the one where old Yark used to live. “Hmmmm I'll just give it a few more minutes and see if they turn up. After that I'll just fly around to see if I can catch sight of them nearby.”
Many moments passed and there was still no sign.
“I hope this wasn't just some stupid joke by the gang. It would be just like something they would do alright. I'll just give them five more minutes.”
“Oh here they are! Oh no, that’s just the first evening patrol. Anyway this is nice being here by myself!, very peaceful. Not sure I really want to go on a sky trek actually. They’re probably not that good anyway.”
“Five more minutes and that's it.”
Since before anyone's memory, that tree stood watch over Coulvil Springs. Some of the old folks talked about those days when the limbs spread in glory, covered with the life and richness of these lands. Many a herder took a spell there. Many a picnic was had in the shade. And perhaps many a lad and lass got their start under those leaves.
ReplyDeleteThen it began to fade. And at some point we noticed. No one knew what to do, as if any folk could breathe new life into such a beast as our tree. So we accepted it. Wandered on with our lives. And never once put it together that Coulvil also faded and lost its bloom. Our young ones left and our fields grew weaker. We had no real idea that we were dying... so slowly, us and that tree. But we were. Everyone felt it, though it was never said.
And then the eagles came. They made a nest and a new life in that tree. It was surely a good sign. Folks said it was and went out to see. And that year, new business came to town. New people. Children. Coulvil was again alive with purpose and passion. Somehow that tree was tied to us and us to it.
But one thing for sure... don't no one picnic under that tree anymore.