Microfiction: Untrodden #writephoto

snowy-landscape

They ask me why I walk alone in the snow. In the cold where no one else walks. Where the trees are bare and the moon is far.

They see only loneliness in the white.

But I cherish the snow. Those crystals glitter to me. The moon is sprinkled all around me. The trees are clothed in wind and stars.

Only in silence does the world speak. Only in stillness does the world move.

They ask me why I walk alone in the snow.

I ask them why they think I’m alone.

 

(Image courtesy of Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

Written for Sue Vincent’s Writephoto Prompt: Untrodden

 

Haibun: Glitter Moon

I’m restless tonight. It feels as if the very air is dancing. I try telling myself I won’t get the job. There were many other applicants. But the air particles don’t settle. Practicality will have to wait for tomorrow.

my dreams alight
with little promises
glitter moon

 

Microfiction: The Stillness of Your Anger

The stillness of your anger scares me. I’ve had anger before. It’s hot, it boils, it wants to come up through your being and into the world. But your anger has no movement. It has no heat. Its shape is unknown.

This anger is a deep part of your being. You hide it from the world. You hide it inside, where your soul is. The seal may crack one day, and you will enter this world. You will walk among us. I pray that day never comes.

 

Microfiction: Rain Shadows

I wonder if raindrops have shadows. Everything has a shadow. The rain must have a shadow too. I think I’ve seen rain shadows once, in my garden, but now I’m not sure. I look for them every time it rains. Mostly I see only light and water. But sometimes – in the grass, on a wall – I see them. Rain shadows. And I know they’re there.

 

 

Haibun: The Rain Comes

I try to see the ghost of yesterday. She doesn’t come. Not for me, anyway.

The window gives me a watercolour view of the garden, and yet the colours are missing, stolen. The trees are shadows in the grey. They stand stark and bare, unmoving. From somewhere water drips.

I turn back to my coffee. The steam warms my face.

 

losing you –
nothing glittters
anymore

The Last Rose Of Babylon

xinature.com-misc-pond-bath-waterlilies-painting-willow-artwork-leaves-tree-wallpaper-gallery-960x540.jpg

The Last Rose of Babylon sat beneath the willow tree. All around her was a dream of emerald. Floating in this dream were butter-coloured lilies and daisies like fallen stars. The dying embers of sunshine glittered in her hair.

Oh but if it could last, she thought.

She knew it could not.

Tomorrow the Persians invade.

The time for gentle things was gone.

 

(Image courtesy of Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie)

Written for Sunday Writing Prompt “It’s All in the Title”