Today’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers is brought to us by the talented and sagacious Rochelle. https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/03/23/25-march-2016/
The goal is to write a ‘story’, beginning, middle, end, in 100 words more or less.
Several thoughts ran through my head when I saw it. Maybe in yours as well?
Ideas from other folks can be found by clicking here: http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=618340
“Beauty in Ashes”
Coming home, done with a late night shift, she drove past the burned out hulk. Finally, demolition is in progress.
Appliances, fixtures, boards and tiles, scattered debris, stark and ugly, waited for pick-up.
Remains of someone’s home to be carried away.
Nostalgic and a bit melancholy, as she is this sunny morning.
The workers have not yet arrived to finish the job.
The sorting, recycling still to be done.
Impulsive, she stops and places a flat of bright pansies in the empty commode.
A simple gesture that brings a smile.
Hope is planted.
Recently a friend challenged me to post a series of ‘nature photos’.
I went through my archived pictures and chose seven that I felt were rather ‘special’, at least they are to me.
Then, I added my all time favorite, the misty morning with the Bible verse.
No matter what the weather or the events of the day, it is important to find something GOOD in the day and rejoice.
It has been a long while since I wrote a Friday Fictioneers challenge. This week’s photo, courtesy of The Reclining Gentleman, woke me up.
In case you are not aware, A photo prompt is posted each week and the challenge is to tell a story in 100 words or less. https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/02/10/12-february-2016/
You were only seven when your classmates sent the pot of blooming daffodils.
Bright, bobbing blooms to grace that hospital room. Mrs. Goodson told me how your friends at school brought in quarters so she could buy them.
We planted them by the maple tree in the yard. Do you remember?
Over the years those flowers flourished, enchanting every spring.
Later on, your youngest son helped you dig some up to plant at your home far away.
Then you went away, forever. They did not bloom again.
I wonder, do they bloom for you in heaven?
Other interesting 100 word +/- tales can be found http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=605998http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=605998
This little fellow was a recent visitor ‘out back’ in the woods east of our home on Sunrise Ridge.
Sitting here inside, looking out my window. The only signs of spring I see are colorful birds flocking to feed. Sunrise Ridge is covered in icy sleet about 3 inches deep.
Only a week ago, temperatures were in the 50 and 60 degree range. Some outdoor chores were done.
We separated some plants off the ‘mother’ blueberry bush and got them in new spots. Well mulched, hope they survived the weekend storm.
One of the ‘babies’ didn’t have much root, so I brought it in and stuck it in a bucket of water in a south window. Roots are filling the bucket and this morning discovered tiny green leaves coming out. Yes, there is hope!
It has been a long winter, and the return of robins, green growing things even inside) and sunshine is a blessing.
In the not far away future, the snow and ice will go away, as it has for millions of years.
Today, I rejoice in that fact!
I have nursed and coddled this lilac bush for several years. Last year, it had one tiny bloom, the first since my father dug it and gave it to me.
It is more than just a bush, it is part of my life. When I see it, blooming or not, I am reminded of some of the wonderful women in my life.
My mother, grandmother, aunts and great-grandmother, who had these flowers before me. Perhaps not the same bushes, but the lilacs, their scent, wraps me in rich memories each year.
Today on our walk, Hubby and I came across a troup of ballerinas, pirouetting just for us.
Clad in gossamer, swaying in the slightest breeze, these delicate ballerinas dance.
I look at them and see not only the beauty in these blooms but the promise of ripe gooseberries to come.
Chubby, tart, basketballs of purple and green.
Sturdy enough not to crush when picked and make a jam or jelly with a distinct tangy flavor.
Two patches endure, and have for 30 odd years, over at the ‘old house place’ where my late mother-in-law first started them.
Over the past few days, we realized that the time has come to get a start on the garden. Realization seems to come with the first sprouts of asparagus breaking through the soil and the discovery of blossoms on the strawberry plants. Growing things signal time to get gardens prepared and planted.
I love the plants and seeds going in and even more the products of all the work.
Sunday afternoon, Hubby and I planted tomato and cucumber seed so those plants will get the needed head start.
Yesterday, a trip out to the local Feed & Seed was necessary. Along with the hog feed we came home with packets of seed. Ready for the correct weather and some tilling to be done.
A shower or two of rain last night has knocked the petals off the fruit trees, under the plums, it looks like white snow, the peach trees have a carpet of pink.
Years ago, our family and many others made frequent trips to this little spring to bring home water for household use. Back then, the water came down a moss – covered wooden trough and flowed across the road to the creek.
Often the kids played in the creek while the adults filled the water containers. I remember more than once, hearing my grandmother say, “I wish we could turn it off, so it won’t run out.”
Spout Spring, B Highway, Reynolds County MO
I have no idea when the trough was replaced by pipe, I had not been there in years, but this morning while Hubby and I wandered about, we thought it would be a good plan to stop by for a drink and a look.
I followed the pipe up under some rocks and found the ‘real’ spring flowing out of the hillside. May-apple umbrella leaves have sprung up around it and some water cress is growing in the tiny pool formed before it runs into the pipe.
We were a lot more conscious and conservative of our water use back then. Each use was considered and each drop accounted for, not like we are today, with a seemingly endless supply at the turn of the tap.
I took an empty water bottle from the truck, filled it and enjoyed a deep satisfying quaff of cold clear water. Ah, the taste, and even more the memories.
I often post photos in a ‘photo a day group’ on Facebook. Each day has a topic, and folks are allowed to interpret it and post their own pictures.
Today’s topic was ‘tiny’ and I posted this picture:
I looked in my “Missouri Wildflower’ book and did not find a ‘match’, so I indicated that in my post about the picture.
This is how things work: A lady in the UK posted that she thought the flower was called ‘speedwell’.
My daughter in California looked it up http://greennature.com/gallery/weeds/weeds-in-lawn.html and sure enough, the flower is speedwell.
I found this very interesting, as long ago ancestors arrived at Plimouth on a ship called the Speedwell.
And that, friends, is ‘how things work’ sometimes…