Written for Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative
Challenge #070. I chose Pic #1.
Tag: Home
Old Park Road
Written for Sadje’s “What Do You See” #323.
Here’s where the photo prompt took me.
Woman Down
Written for Cinquain Poetry Prompt #34
where our inspiration word is “defeat”.
This is my mirror cinquain.
RDP Friday: perspective
Written for RDP, where Martha asks us
to get creative with the word ‘perspective’.
Thanks, Martha! Here’s my take.
The Empty House
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #225.
Here’s my story, using Fandango’s teaser.
Share Your World
Di at pensitivity101 is asking us
to share our world by answering
a few questions. I can do that!
Here are her questions ~
Going Back To New York City
Who Could Ask For More
This week at Writing Prompts, Esther has teased us
with the word ‘gifts’. Meanwhile, Gerry and Sue
at Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge have
offered up the word ‘decorations’. This is my story.
Lucy Update
Desert Sky
Written for The New, Unofficial, On-Line Writer’s Guild.
This week the three prompts for OLWG #368 – We Both Know
are (1) an old Patti Smith song, (2) need more blue in the shadows
and (3) when I left El Paso. Here is my first story for OLWG.
Jenna pulled off the long empty stretch of highway and killed the engine. The view of the desert skyline was too stunning for words. She stepped out of the car and leaned against the door, the hot sun beating down on her face and shoulders. The late afternoon sky was intense, deeply saturated with shades of cerulean, and Jenna smiled. As a fledgling artist, she always found fault with her own artwork, declaring the colors “lackluster”; she was more at home with a camera than a paint brush. Nature’s palette didn’t need more blue in the shadows cast by the sun or more green in the desert grass. It was perfection.
Easing her way back into the driver’s seat, Jenna caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview. The delicate gold chain with the heart from Miguel was dazzling in the desert sun. Jenna lifted the heart to lips and closed her eyes.
Reaching for her cell phone, Jenna snapped a photo of the desert and sent it to Miguel; then she called him. After three rings, her call went to voice mail. Jenna didn’t care; the time was right. She left a message:
“Hey, babe! Can you guess where I am from the photo I sent? In an hour I’ll be home. Home. Just saying the word fills my heart with joy. When I left El Paso, I had no idea the photo shoot would keep me away so long. I miss you so much, mi amor. I can’t wait to be in your arms once again! I love you, papi.”
Jenna pushed the engine button and started heading home. About ten minutes into her drive, she hear the familiar strains of an old Patti Smith song coming from her phone … Miguel’s personal ringtone. She pulled over to read the message:
“Jenna, mi amor! I’ve waited this long. What’s another hour? Te amo!”
Smiling at the sight of the desert sky in her rearview, Jenna hurried home … home to Miguel.
NAR©2024
This is “Dancing Barefoot” by Patti Smith
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Calm and Choppy Waters
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday
where the theme is ‘ship’. This is my stream.
Sometimes in life you make a connection with another person and you know right away it’s special. That happened to me 40 years ago on the day we moved into our new house.
We weren’t moving very far – just about a quarter mile from where we were living. That’s the wonderful thing about this little town; no one wants to leave! It’s quaint, friendly, clean and quiet with it’s beautiful harbor full of ships bobbing peacefully on small waves.
Moving day arrived and the crew was busy getting our boxes loaded for shipping to the new house. My husband stayed behind making sure all went smoothly while I headed over to the new house with our two small sons to wait for the moving vans.
We were sitting on the floor of our empty house playing a game when someone knocked on the door. It was our new neighbor, Debby, who came over to introduce herself. When she saw us sitting on the floor, she insisted we go over to her place which was right next door. When I explained that I was waiting for the moving vans to arrive, Debby said I’d have a clear view of my house from her comfortable sofa. I didn’t need any more convincing and agreed to go over.
When we walked into Debby’s house, the first thing I noticed were the numerous framed photos of large fishing ships, most of them with her husband grinning and displaying a huge fish. I thought how nice it would be for my husband to have a fellow fisherman living next door.
Debby and I started talking and it was as easy and natural as rain. We had so much in common, it felt like we’d known each other all our lives. She also had two young sons and my boys had instant friends. We talked non-stop while I waited for the movers to show up; by the time the vans arrived, a great friendship had been formed and is still going strong. We’ve been through bad hair days, secrets, laughs, tears, vacations, runs to the emergency room, weddings, flooded basements, missing cats, birthdays, Covid, lots of wine, illness, school fairs, Christmases and devastating deaths.
It’s so nice when you have neighbors you get along with; it’s priceless when you have a great relationship like mine and Debby’s. We’re very close and so much alike, people think we’re sisters. If I need to cry or share a laugh, Deb’s the first one I call. The same is true for her. We are each others best friend, two women lucky to have this amazing “soulship” to carry us through the calm and choppy waters of life.
NAR©2024
This is “Wooden Ships” by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Death In The Family
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is asking us to
write a Six Sentence Story using the word “pass”.
This is my six sentence story.
The house is quiet tonight ….eerily quiet …. for all the lights are off and only the glow of candles shines dimly through the curtained windows, performing a ballet of shadows on the walls and ceiling; every so often a door softly opens, barely perceptible murmurings are audible, then the door gently closes as intermittent muted sobbing creeps up from the parlor.
I sit on my bed huddled under a blanket, a tiny flashlight flickering a pale yellow beam on my diary as I jot down my memories of the day; I must be quiet because my mother will be very upset with me if she discovers I’m still awake at this late hour.
My window is open just enough to let in some fresh air and the distinct smell of cigarette smoke wafts up into my room; I peek out to see my mother’s uncles sitting on the back steps silently smoking their unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes, their black armbands starkly visible against their plain starched white shirts.
I tip-toe across the length of my bedroom, praying the old wooden floorboards beneath the well-worn rug will not creak and ever so slowly I turn the glass doorknob; the hallway is dark but I can detect a muted light downstairs and I scurry nearer to the staircase railing for a better look as I sit there hugging my knees asking myself if I should creep downstairs and take a peek.
A few hours earlier the ambience of the house was much different, still subdued but active as delivery men came and went and acquaintances passed through the hallway into the parlor to pay their respects while my mother and the other women labored in the kitchen like mute worker bees, preparing trays of food for the constant flow of visitors, and my father, along with my uncles, positioned the many floral arrangements throughout the parlor; we children sat quietly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically subdued, occasionally glancing toward the walnut casket resting atop a platform in the center of the room and quickly look away.
Around 6:00 we were quietly whisked away into the dining room where we silently ate our supper, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil; it had been a long and sorrowful day, the longest day in our young lives, for the family matriarch, my great-grandmother had died.
This is Enrico Caruso singing “Mamma mia, che vo’sapé” (“My mother, what did you know?”)
NAR©2024
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
SLIPPING AWAY
Dedicated to my sister for her ceaseless loving care.
My elderly mother stood by the window, her hand pulling back a section of curtain. “Mom, what are you doing up? It’s nearly 3AM.”
Without turning to look at me, she replied. “I’m waiting for my husband. He’s returning from the war and will be home any minute.”
I closed my eyes and sighed in resignation. One moment she was lucid, the next her mind clouded over like wintry days. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth again.
“Here, Mom. Lie down. Try to get some sleep.”
She closed her eyes as I silently left her room.
NAR © 2023
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