a good monday to you, readers & writers! hope your weekend brought time to rest and play.
* * *
here's my spin on today's photo writing prompt. writers, please jump in and share whatever poem, story or creative non-fiction thoughts arise when you look at this photo. readers, the comments section is open to you as well. happy reading and writing!
What kindness there is in the wise layers of this tree - to provide a row of steps for passersby? How many feet have lighted on these ragged roots? Four furry dog feet, pulling her person forward, "Faster! Faster! To the river!" The scuffed up dress shoes of a businessman on lunch, claiming a break from the neon glow of his computer screen. Hiking boots, fresh from the box, laced up by a woman ready to get up off the couch and be in the world again. Two sets of sneakers, his and hers, close together, holding hands, deep in puppy love, happy for every moment that's theirs to spend before going separate ways to do homework and chores. Twenty, fifty, maybe even a hundred people a day, tread the path, down the stairs, to the creek, to revel in the wonder of the world. Thank you, sister tree, for easing the way to Eden.
What kindness there is in the wise layers of this tree - to provide a row of steps for passersby? How many feet have lighted on these ragged roots? Four furry dog feet, pulling her person forward, "Faster! Faster! To the river!" The scuffed up dress shoes of a businessman on lunch, claiming a break from the neon glow of his computer screen. Hiking boots, fresh from the box, laced up by a woman ready to get up off the couch and be in the world again. Two sets of sneakers, his and hers, close together, holding hands, deep in puppy love, happy for every moment that's theirs to spend before going separate ways to do homework and chores. Twenty, fifty, maybe even a hundred people a day, tread the path, down the stairs, to the creek, to revel in the wonder of the world. Thank you, sister tree, for easing the way to Eden.
Come write with me!
You always choose such great pictures, and your take on them is so refreshing. You must be a very visually inspired writer. :)
ReplyDeleteWhy thank you, Linda! I am a visual person, for sure. AND thank you for NOT writing "Wow! What a brilliant and insightful post. You rock!" :)
ReplyDeleteHe hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he’d come home from the Sandbox and neither had she. What she had missed in their home and their bed during his deployment was still absent and not likely to return any time soon. If the articles she’d been reading held any truth, he was gone for good. After another restless night, she’d decided they both needed a hike. “We’ll go slow,” she’d promised, but hadn’t told him where they were going. He hadn’t asked. They’ve been climbing for two hours and his sliding steps have repeatedly tripped him. His arm and her heart have broken the fall each time he goes down. Neither will give up. She is glad he can’t see her tears, but only until Guilt shames her with a swift kick. His steps are more tentative after his last fall. She reaches out as he stumbles again, the toe of his sneaker catching on an exposed tree root. He shakes her off and turns his sweat dappled brow toward the late morning sun. How long, she wonders, till he shakes me off permanently? “We’re almost there,” she tells him. “Step high.” A shadow falls across his face and he looks up. She watches his expression, tense, alert, subtly twitching, like a dog sniffing the breeze and listening in its body for subtle vibrations of energy. He wrinkles his brow and rubs his elbow. He stretches both arms wide and his cane cracks against a tree trunk. Leaning toward the tree he pats around its girth and strokes upward following the overhead curve of a limb. He digs his fingernails into the crevices of the bark and finally caresses it like a cherished face. He presses his cheek to the tree. “Where are we?” she asks. “Gratitude,” says he.
ReplyDeleteThey had been arguing for hours. The whole drive here had been one big fight, and it hadn't stopped when they got out of the car. Looking at his dad, red-eyed and loud. His mom had her shoulders up and was kicking every stone and plant in reach. Greg knew this was going to go on and on. They fought. They yelled. He watched and he listened. Today as they rounded the corner, he stopped at the most amazing tree. And he began exploring those roots and lines of dirt and insects. This was an alien world! He traced the flowing knobbly lines with his finger and his nose and his eyes... taking it all in, following it whereever it led. At some point he noticed it was quiet. About twenty feet down the path, they stood there hand in hand looking at him. He smiled back at them. It made no sense, but it was good.
ReplyDeletePauline & FilmGuy - sad and beautiful stories, both. Thank you for writing with me!
ReplyDelete