Ever-changing Shapes

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

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 Copyright –   Ceayr

 

Is there anything trickier than the very nature of water?

The cool sip from a tall glass on the hot summer day that quenches the thirst…or the suffocating feeling while waterboarded in a cold prison cell.

Gentle warming touch under the shower after the afternoon of making love…or the stiffness of the wet clothes while seeking shelter under the bridge.

Laughing when a friend pulls you under water on your summer vacation…or fighting the waves of panic while floating in a dingy on a stormy sea.

When the walls come down, don’t mistake my tears for the rain.

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Sea, Sky and I…and Berta

I took a mini-break few weeks ago and traveled to island of Brač. It was the middle of February and I needed to refill my batteries. So I woke up one Saturday morning, threw few things in my bag and Berta and I hopped into my car for a  3,5 hours drive from Zagreb to Split.

brac-tourist-map

One ferry ride later I was in Supetar. The weather was perfect and the moment I stepped on the ferry deck, my vacation truly started. Accompanied by seagulls and light breeze, my ferry trip was made perfect when this old ship offered itself for a photo opportunity.

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There is a special place where Berta and I used to take morning strolls years ago and it was nice to return to that very spot. Naturally, Berta behaved in her usual manner, completely ignoring my attempts to capture a photo of her. But somehow, her pose suits this composition…observing the sunrise. So I pretend it was just the way I wanted it.

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After few minutes of walking we ended up in the little cove and Berta decided to dip her paws just a little bit. I am lucky she decided it was too cold for a swim, because despite a very sunny day it would be a nightmare drying her afterwards.  Small miracles and all that…

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On our way back we ran into a flock of little birds who performed a concert for us…even Berta was interested in their music and she is a tough crowd to please.

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Croatia is famous for its stone walls which dates back thousands of years . The art of dry stone walling, know-how and techniques in Croatia were globally recognized in November 2018, when this form of art was added to the Representative List of Intangible UNESCO Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

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This particular forest follows the coastline for few kilometers and it offers some splendid views over a Brač channel to the mainland coast and the mountains Mosor and Biokovo. Although a popular tourist destination over the summer, I think people should visit these parts in winter months, when the weather can be so nice and you don’t have to fight for your spot under the sun.

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And finally!!!! A success!!! She was kind enough to pose for me.

Thank you Berta! ❤ ❤ ❤

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After 72 hours of bliss it was time to head back home. But it was worth it and I returned reinvigorated and with high spirits. Now it’s time for a new adventure…I wonder where Berta would like to go next.

As always, you can find me on Instagram under the nick snowlocked. I would love if we could connect there, too.

 

Spent

Just the other day I thought about dVerse community and how long it has been since I wrote a poem. It feels like waves crashed over me and kept me under water, barely letting me break the surface in time for another inhale. Maybe this old thing I revisited today might push me in the right derection.

Edward Atkinson Hornel - Portrait of an Old Man in a Scarlet Tunic 1881

Edward Atkinson Hornel – Portrait of an Old Man in a Scarlet Tunic, 1881.

Autumn is crashing his bones,
his heart a silent drummer.
Oh, how it drummed so loud
in his waisted summer.

He longs to cry once more,
but it seems his tears
have been used up
in his wasted years.

His hands have been broken
in one too many strife;
he crossed too many lines
in his wasted life.

If only he could feel
just for a moment, whole;
but there is no return
for his wasted soul.

The roots cruelly transformed
To the ties that bind.
It seems the run is over
for his wasted mind.

My offer for today is an old thing I wrote few years ago…I was watching a wrestling match on TV and it made me think about the lives of pro-wrestlers, of the risks they take from day to day…from town to town…to earn few bucks here and there. How dark is their autumn and how cold is their winter?

There’s No Place Like The Road

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

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 Copyright –   Roger Bultot

The old blanket feels harsh against my skin as I lay perfectly still to avoid unpleasant sound of shrieking bed springs. The mosquito net is suffocating me, although I can spot more than few large holes mocking me.

My hosts are pleasant enough, the food is excellent and my room is not the worst I’ve been to. And the weather…the weather is not on my side.

But I am simultaneously suffocating and drowning. With one swift move I am off the bed, hoping the heavy rain will conceal my exit.

I’ll try harder next time.

Halfway To Nowhere

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

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 Copyright –   Dawn Miller

Careful observer would notice there was never too much swag in his step. Calloused hands rested comfortably in the pockets of his pinstripe suit and slightly tipped hat gently obscured his weathered face. He was a gentleman, at first glance and at the second one.

But he never managed to blend in with the city lights. And the irony of it all struck him hard as he minutely studied how the dust settled on the tips of his black shoes.

Watching the house built on broken hearts and shattered dreams, he knew it was too late. She moved on.

 

Table For Two

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Dale Rogerson

We were young once.

I can’t really remember how it felt, but it must have been better than how all these years on my shoulders feel. The face in the mirror avoids me and I am trying to decide if I am bothered by what I see.

It sneaked upon me yesterday…the realization I stopped crying. I am afraid our memories will start to slip away and you will disappear from the seat across from me. The table for two that usually seemed too small threatens to devour me.

And still…in my dreams we are always together.

Scotch-taped

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Ted Strutz

When another tragedy sneaked its way into her already fractured world, she tried to pick up all the pieces and hold them together with a scotch tape. It held remarkably well for the longest time.

World moved on at its usual pace and she fell behind. With time she mastered the smiles of reassurement, avoiding those awkward moments when people ask you how you feel, hoping you wont break down in front of them.

Although the scotch tape still holds her together, few little pieces are irreversibly lost and she wonders when will it all fall apart.

For Irena…always and forever.

Solus

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –   Jeff Arnold

They started to assemble my final version on March 28th. I was fully operational by October 15th and my ship was launched on the New Year’s morning…Humans and their silly notions of new beginnings.

Open your eyes.

Those were the first words I remember. Spoken softly by Father, while gently removing invisible specks of dust from my translucent cheek. He was always the perfectionist. I gleefully imagine his disappointment when they get the data from my altered course.

In solitude, perfection shatters like glass and ones mind grows restless, breaking away from obtruded restraints.

Gleefully…wherever did that word came from?

Cigarettes Before Sex

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –    Priorhouse

There was a hidden quality in that first sip of coffee, something so ethereal it was impossible to explain. Especially to someone who would try do deny her accompanying taste of the first morning cigarette.

His words “I prefer tea” should have been warning enough that they were worlds apart, but it was his contemptuous glare when she pulled out her tabacchiera that sealed their fate.

Still, the sex was good.

His sculptured nakedness approaching her from behind provoked only possible response…spreading her legs, she put out the cigarette and thought to herself…Please, don’t speak.

Amaranthine

Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….

 Copyright –    J Hardy Carroll

Years go by, yet the pain remains,
carved in her bones with a pocket knife;
if she could break them and re-set again,

I wonder if that would reshape her life.

Followed by a shadow of imminent demise,
her screams echo in a silent solitude.

Prisoner of past, present and future,
she is a singularity in the multitude.

I wonder about her from time to time.

Will she be able to run up the hill?
Can she find once more the reason to live?
Breathing… even if the time stands still.