Snow showers, they told us yesterday. Expect an illusion, the look of something falling, something that vanishes as if it never was.
Midnight and snow
All evening and all night flecks of whiteness dropped through the air. They couldn’t resist us, our houses and yards and streets, our world. They wanted to stay. So they did.
Lavender in the Snow
The sun set last night on faded winter beige. It rose today on a different world, bleached to white, punctuated by black stones and gray-green lavender. Winter’s here.
I haven’t participated in the 100 Word Challenge for a week or two. Time to get back on track! This week, Julia asks us to add 100 words to the prompt “…the notes from the piano…” to make a very small story. Hmmm. Where is that piano? Who’s playing it – and what kind of music are they playing? Here’s my answer – please let me know what you think!
The notes from the piano in the studio downstairs drifted through the floor. Sounds charming, right? Well, no. Scales, G to G, drifted through the floor. Over and over, up and down. And every time, the same wrong note. I burrowed into the pillows, coughed some more, and tried to sleep.
Finally the hour’s lesson was over. Blessed silence. No – footsteps stomping up the old stairs. A fist banging on my door. I pulled on a robe and staggered out to answer.
“Look, I’ve been hearing you cough all afternoon. Are you – no, I can see you’re not okay. Do you need help? What can I get you?”
This time, Ailsa’s travel theme is “Up”. Here’s a picture I took in Old City Quebec,
looking way way up at a statue
of explorer Samuel de Champlain.
Just like the title says, this week’s WordPress Photo Challenge topic is “beyond”…
The walls of Dubrovnik, Croatia, and the Adriatic Sea beyond.
I’m just under the wire this week for Friday Fictioneers! Rochelle gave us an interesting photo prompt for this week’s 100(ish) word stories – I tried to use all or most of the items in it in one way or another. Let me know what you think, please!
I was under the table coloring the funny pages that December afternoon in 1938 when Papa got the letter. “Ruth, Sol, the children! They’re all coming!”
Mama called from the kitchen. “Ruth? Coming here, finally? When?”
“The boat should dock, wait, where’s the calendar, next Tuesday! I’ll close the store, meet them, make them see sense and stay…”
I had never seen my aunt and uncle and cousins until Papa whirled them into our apartment. Aunt Ruth dived into her bags and came out with a big bundle, unwrapping it carefully.
Papa’s jaw dropped. “Ruth! Grandmama’s menorah! But…you said, just a visit…”
Aunt Ruth gave him a grim smile. “Well, we’re not going back.”
It isn’t the flu.
No, it can’t be the flu.
My shoulders don’t ache
And I had my shot, too.
I don’t have the flu.
No, I won’t have the flu.
It drags on so long;
I have so much to do.
But I’m coughing all night
And I’m coughing all day
And I’m so very tired
And it won’t go away
Not whatever I do…
do you think it’s the flu?