Posts Tagged ‘path’

FFF prompt BOOTS adamickes-childsboots

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/12/11/13-december-2013/

For those who are new, Rochelle shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come, show me you’re brave.

Here’s my contribution:

Tuscarora Trail

This section of trail was overgrown having seen little use since the rumored incident some years back. Two boys had ventured along while earning points towards merit badges for mapping the lesser known crossings of the Blue Ridge; this one believed to have been used by Tuscarora warriors during raids on the settlement below. All that was ever found of those scouts was a strip of hair, some skin, and boots, the story went. Undeterred, and anxious to prove himself, Tate dared to hike along the same trail as a clammy wind began to stroke the base of his neck.

jKb

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ShannonOldroyd Orange Skies Of New Jersey

What is the purpose of your art?

Time to share.

A friend from years past made a social media posting that essentially stated ‘The first five people who respond to this post will receive a free piece of my art.’ I was instantly struck by her generosity. The gist was that the recipients should then bare the responsibility to pay it forward, and so on.

The great ripple effect had begin.

My problem was I wasn’t one of the five. Story of my life. I responded anyway. I mean, why not? I risked nothing in doing so. In fact, by even giving my response I was letting her know her reach and influence was broader than she anticipated. She soon responded back that I too could participate.

That was a few weeks ago, the pact was nearly forgotten, until I heard the sound of dogs barking, which is the sound that accompanies the approaching mailman each day. Wise as he is, he walks the neighborhood with a pocket full of dog treats.

Who knew this day would not be like each other? It sounded very much the same.

Hanging from the mouth of the mailbox just outside my front door was a special delivery. Enclosed inside the cushioned mailer pouch was a 3 inch square painted canvas mounted on a wooden frame and, something from a lost era, a handwritten note. These blessings arrived yesterday.

I am completely moved by the thought, the effort, the freely shared energy, the connection.

Being who I am and having the limited gifts that I do, I was motivated to write a flash of fiction based on her art, and then share with all of you and invite you to perhaps continue her experiment in some fashion.

In a complete abuse of the #FridayFictioneers I’ve tagged and linked (and hope Rochelle appreciates and understands; the story does however fit with this weeks prompt) so that you all might take this gem and toss your own art-sharing-pebble.

After all, what are we striving for anyway?

The copyright on this art belongs to S.O.

So, here we go. My contribution:

Where The Crow Roosts

Soft footfalls upon layered molderings, careless boney whispers between leafless trees, these the witnesses to the broken man’s burden as he trudged, ever onward, driven by a need for simple answers, for self discovery and a truth of his own, or perhaps for something broader, more absolute.

And a key; not something crafted of iron, but an understanding.

A rusted throaty utterance halted his progression, interrupted his brooding. Refocused, he immediately recalled this place and what he had done. And as an iridescent form settled among the boughs above, he understood this place would hold importance for him yet again.

jKb



My mind’s been elsewhere. I wonder if when my mind travels, when I leave out on these magnificent adventures, is it just a whimsical fantasy, some lingering adolescent drivel? I believe no. Such is the language of the naysayers, and to them I ask: Is something not real because it escapes another’s sense of tangibility?

Evolve. Open your heart and open your mind.

If I journal the events and another reads and now two have shared the experience, and then a third and another, how can it be said that the dream is not real? You live how you wish, freely restricted, within your self-imposed walls of delusion. I will travel down the rabbit hole and there I shall meet others like me, again and again, for we are brothers and sisters and what we share is nothing less than magical.

Poof.

Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at:

http://www.madison-woods.com/index-of-stories/100512-2/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Now the pitch. Go ahead. Choose the red one.

My contribution:

For Love

He dreamed it would be done here. Eventually. In this safe harbor of peace and union; where their family nurtured their bodies as well as their souls; where struggles were confronted and solutions devised, together.

Here, a pact was forged; another bled.

She sought a love. Other than that which arose beside her each morning, labored daily to provide comfort, fed and bathed her when sick, which kept her true, only, contained within his walls.

In this room, upon this shared table she stretched before the other, revealed her passion, explored places all together new and unknown.

But, for what?

jKb



Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings as  http://madison-woods.com/flash-fiction/damsel-fly/

Please note, that’s a new website for MadisonWoods.

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Get on your horse and ride!

Here is my contribution:

Shearing Placid

Austin struck a match and drew breath. The hand-rolled cannabis tip glowed. “Nothin’ betta.” He chuffed then offered to Samuel who was soaking in the pleasantly burbling brook.

How’d ya find this place? Ain’t on the map.”

Nope. Came across the fence while jacking deer; had a sign said ‘Do Not Enter,’ so I killed it and climbed over.”

Taylor’s land, you think?”

Nah. Probably government. Fence goes miles.”

A shimmering dragonfly scissored along, settled upon a tumbled rock, gossamer wings shearing placid stillness, mesmerizing Samuel.

Look there.”

Another.

Then, several more.

Too many.

jKb



Finding Way

Paths selected in favor of the more passable.

I clutch these choices to my breast, they cannot be stripped.

Whether worse or better, I claim thee, mine alone.

I own nothing if not my choices,

Or, they own me.

I cherish, I honor, I love, in my way.

But, I am tempted, and I am weak.

I am human, still.

Confident and capable, just not so as they believe.

Once I wished, in earnest prayer to be.

No longer.

I have my choices, my decisions.

And here, this lane.

For me, not them.

And then something else.

My match met, we know.

My stride broken, pride taken, I think.

Or simply given away?

Mistakes made, we were not mistaken.

Nothing to regret.

Was true, all, fierce indeed, and unknown in this pass before,

and Is Love.

Suffered yet, I died, and, I lived.

Upon this mirror I witness a slower and different being.

Persisting here, but not alone.

Feeling here, I am unwhole.

But I am no longer worse.

I am finding way.

jKb

Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings at http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/pathways/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. It’s great fun and an excellent exercise for organizing thoughts and improving word choice. Give it a go.

This week, as my eyes glazed over, I contemplated the prompt. In the distance came something familiar, ‘and now you’re just somebody that I used to know — somebody.’ Then, like a virus, this thought infected my mind:

Letting Go

“Follow the white trail.”

This, a weekend adventure into Appalachia before school resumed. Backpacks strapped, boots laced, they plodded along a remote path terminating atop a fifty-foot cascade. All Justin’s idea, yet Damon led, as he always did. Justin followed, as he always had.

“It’s beautiful,” said Damon.

“See the pool below?”

“Where?”

“Look from here.” Justin’s supportive hand grasped Damon’s as he stretched past the edge peering down.

No slippage, just an opening release.

“Good-bye, friend.”

Arms whirled beyond reach.

Below, listless lips muttered wordlessly as life’s light abandoned languid eyes opaquing in summerly laze.

jKb

Thank you again to MadisonWoods for all her work and organization. You can visit her site and read through the other Flash Fiction Friday postings as http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/desolation/

For those who are new, MadisonWoods shares a photo prompt to which several #FridayFictioneers will compose a 100-word flash of fiction. Come and play, won’t you?

Here is my contribution, somewhat early, I know:

****************************************

Black Parade

Softly, she leads the procession of shallow depressions across a dusting of white ash on blackest shadowed earth; a torturous path of naked foot falls in her wake, something more akin to tranquil blue lapping at sunned sand.

But not on this barren land.

She guides departed souls, this child, and sings her most sorrowful melody. ‘As I walk through the valley…’ The wind condemns the rape and murder, the lust and greed, their sins committed.

No appeals, no salvation, only this black parade.

She ceases upon a jagged precipice, continuing her tearful mourning.

Descending from grace they begin eternity.

jKb

Traveling the path is living. Each foot fall a new experience. Let your feet take you on your life’s journey. Savor. Sing. Twirl. And, for God’s sake, take your shoes off, at least once in a while. Also, listen. What you hear there, that is me whistling. I’m just around the bend.

jKb