Mind Dance

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© Penntonic.wordpress.com (Caerlynn Nash)

Thoughts meander
like a stream through the woods.
A moment of sunlight,
A moment of shadow
Cast by the tallest trees.
A clear cool spring,
Bubbling over
Or standing still.
Deep dark pools.
Swirling leaves
In eddies
Among the fallen trees.
Nurturing all that grows within.
Reflecting all that is around.
Thunder clouds and
Wispy bits of angel wings.
Feathers that float on high,
Carried by breezes
To places yet unknown.

~~~

#FF: Nothin’ fancy

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© Sandra Crook

#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


Don’t know why they called it a Singer, ‘cause it sho’ wouldn’t sing for me. I jumbled up more outfits ‘n I care t’ remember. My fingers still got callouses from jammin’ ’em under the needle or tryin’ to pry out them balls of thread from a messy seam.

Ma could make it sing though. When we was little, she done beautiful clothes at the factory.

Worked long hours, she did, ‘n’ always come home tired. Never had much time for me and Jemmy, but we always had food on the table and, of course, decent clothes. Nothin’ fancy mind you.

~~~

#FF: Something happened

© Vijaya Sundaram
© Vijaya Sundaram

#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

I hope everyone had a great summer!


I’ve always hated fireworks.
Josef knew that, but he insisted I go with him.
“Come here. Hold my hand.”
The first explosion. I flinched.
The second explosion. I cringed and crushed his hand.
The third explosion. I jumped and ran from the oohing and aahing crowd.
Josef followed, yelling for me to come back. “It’s only fireworks.” He yelled after me.
If he only knew. If anyone only knew.
Thirty-three years and I can’t get that sound out of my head. The sight of blood. The screams.
The nightmares still haunt me regularly.
Maybe someday I’ll tell him.
Tell someone.
~~~

Listening skills? What listening…

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© John Nixon

#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


“Doesn’t she play beautifully?”

“Yes, I…”

“My son plays well too. He’s playing at Stanton Hall next Saturday. You should come.”

“I…”

“Oh. This is such a beautiful song. It always reminds me of my late husband and the time we spent in Paris.”

“Did you…”

“We had such a lovely time. He was such a romantic. Have you ever been to the Louvre?”

“Yes, actually…”

“I just love traveling. My friend and I are going on one of those river cruises next month.”

“Ah. That’s…” SighI think I’ll go now and stick my head under the piano hammers.

***

#FF: That spring thing

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© Roger Bultot

100-word Flash Fiction
#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


Everywhere I go there they are. They’ve been following me for days. Why? I have no special colors, and I’m rather shy. I can build a pretty mean nest though and I do sing beautifully.

I admit, they are certainly attractive with their bright colors and kinda funny with all their flaunting and feather fluffing.

Ah, I get it. I’m the only female here.

So, who to choose. This little dude right next to me is pretty hot. Why is he facing that way when the rest of us are all facing this way?

I’ll choose him. I like different.

***

#FF: I don’t even have the dress yet

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© Mary Shipman

100-word Flash Fiction
#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


Since she was ten, Marissa talked about dressing in Victorian style on her wedding day. “If you’re going to do a period wedding, you’ll have to be authentic,” Mother always said.

Today, in the most exclusive vintage shop Mother could find, they shopped for the costume.

“How much is that?” Marissa excitedly asked the owner pointing to a lovely chemise.

“Three hundred twenty five dollars.”

“And that gorgeous corset?”

“Twelve hundred fifty.”

“I’m thin, I don’t need the corset. The petticoat?”

“Eighteen hundred.”

“Oh.”

Fifteen minutes later, they met Dad at the car. Mom smiled and whispered, “Crisis averted.”

***

Exploring the past to find the future.