“In giving you are throwing a bridge across the chasm of your solitude.”
Giulio stood on the dock, wondering about the day when Mary would return. He felt disconsolate as once again he would return to an empty house. He cat was soon out of sight. He walked slowly towards where he’d parked his car .
A young couple had parked next to his car. They seemed to be German tourists. He didn’t speak German, but seeing their distressed look he tried asking what was wrong in English.
“I don’t know.” said the young man, “My car won’t start.”
Giulio, after asking permission, lifted the hood to see if any wires were loose. Sure enough, the battery cable was barely attached. He fixed it in its place and invited the man to try again. The car roared to life.
“Wunderbar!” they shouted together smiling and clapping their hands. Then hopped out of their car to shake his hand.
“We’re going to have dinner in a short while, would you not be our guest?” the lady asked him.
This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship that lasted long after they left for home two weeks later.
out of solitude
chickadees sing in summer
a friendly gesture
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” the knight said as he walked past the corpses of his dead comrades in arms.
He’d been born into a nobel family and when the Pope called for the faithful to free Jerusalem, he being the youngest son had been destined by his house to represent the family, at 16. He’d decided to dedicate his life to capture and protection of the Holy City.
Jerusalem had fallen in 1069 … his stomach turned remembering his part in the massacre of the infidels, men, women and children who’d taken sanctuary in Temple of Solomon … 10,000 people some said. Secretly, he asked himself, if this was what it meant to be a true Christian?
Those who fought at the Tower of David were spared, oddly enough, these had been warriors who’d resisted for days against the Franks. We slaughter the sheep but free the wolves! He thought sadly. Then entered the chapel to pray.
“Well, they look like shoes to me…never seen any ’til now?” replied Margot sarcastically.
“Sure, I meant what are they doing here? They’re not new of course, but they’re not something I’d throw away.”
“Who knows and who cares. You’re not thinking of taking them are you…I mean, yuck, someone’s shoes. Could have had athlete’s foot or anything!”
“No, I’m just curious, that’s all. I mean who’d leave their shoes on someone’s door step?”
“Maybe she thought she was in a hotel and wanted them to be cleaned!”
Ginger pulled out her cell phone and took a few pictures of the shoes.
“Whatever are you going to do with those photographs?” Margot wanted to know.
“Well, I thought I’d write about them on my evening “Just a Note” for the newspaper. You know, special interest!”
“Ginger, special interest is about lost dogs and cats and stuff like that, not about someone’s lost shoes!”
“Still, it is curious don’t you think?”
“No, they’re just lost shoes!” Margot wailed “What could be so special about a pair of old shoes sitting on a door step! Maybe she left them in her boyfriend’s car and he dropped them off.”
“Oh no, no one lives there don’t you know? That place has been abandoned for over 50 years!”
They reached Ginger’s house and she greeted her friend with a cheery wave. They made an appointment for the next afternoon to have tea and then Ginger ran up her stairs into the house and straight to her computer. An hour later she posted her article just in time for it to be printed.
The next morning two policemen knocked on her door.
“Miss Ginger Aimes? We’re from homicide, may we come in?” said the shorter of the policemen.
“Sure, what’s up.”
“It’s about those shoes in your article this morning. Seems they belonged to the latest victim of a serial killer. He always leaves his victim’s shoes on or near where he’s hidden his victim’s body. Where did you find them?”
“Well, just down the road, on the doorstep of an old abandoned house!” She was almost breathless with shock.”
“You’re a journalist right…haven’t you ever heard about this guy?”
“Well, no.”
“Could you show us where the shoes were?” the taller policeman asked her, speaking for the first time.
“Sure, just a minute, I’ve got to get my coat!”
The two men smiled at each other, “Margot will be in stitches when she hears how well her joke’s gone off!” said the tall fellow.
“Yeah, kind of feel sorry for her friend though, I think we should tell her the truth.”
“Yeah, we will. After we go and look at the scene of the crime!” he winked.
Ginger came to the door, ready to show the policemen where the shoes had been. She waited for someone to tell her what to do next.
They’d walked throughout the night and into part of the next day, mud splattered cold, not knowing where they were going. Around 4:00, they came upon the old stone house, half buried in the hillside.
“Let’s stop here, I don’t think I can go another step!” Michael sighed.
“Ok, but let’s be sure that there’s no one here.”
“Who’d live out here in the middle of no where? I mean, this is the first sign of life in days!”
“I know.” James said, “But just the same…”
They divided, one going towards the left, the other the right. There wouldn’t have been many places to hide, the building was low laying, the roof just above the earth in certain areas.
The door stood slightly ajar, and with sword in hand, James walked towards the door. He pulled it open with one hand. Nothing, there was no-one, but there were signs of someone living in that run-down shack.
He descended the steps slowly. There was a table, laid for three people, three chairs and a cupboard full of glasses and dishes. From the ceiling hung a cured ham and corn husks. In one corner was a small fireplace with a cauldron over a low fire. In another corner, there was a bed with a colorful duvet on it. The house was warm.
“Hey, Michael, come here!”
Michael entered and took in the room. They looked at each other then grabbed a bowl and a spoon from the table, went over to the cauldron then dished themselves up a bowl of porridge. There was a pitcher of water and one of milk on the table. They drank their fill of the water and poured the milk onto the porridge and ate heartily, finally using a bit of some fresh-baked bread to clean their plates.
A girl came into the room at this point. She was graceful, with long black auburn hair. She smiled a warm welcome to them, which took them by surprise.
“Ah, so I see you’ve made it at last, ’tis a week I’ve been waiting for you!” she exclaimed happily.
“You can’t be waiting for us, we didn’t know we’d be coming here!” said Michael.
“You may not have known, but the forest knew and it told me. You are the one called Michael,” she said to him “and you are James she said turning to the other.”
“And who are you?” James asked.
“I’m known as Kitsune, and this is my home. Not only the house, but all the forest you’ve been walking in.”
James had never heard of someone owning the forest, but Michael who’d lived many years in the area had heard of Kitsune.
“You are a witch!” Michael shouted as he pulled out his sword.
“No, I’m a Kami! She laughed “and you are a ghost! You both died a week ago whilst wandering in that terrible snow storm. Now, you may stay with me for a time before resuming your journey.” She poured them a glass of wine and pulled out a fruit cake. “You are my guests.”
Each May the flowers bloom filling the air with their lovely profume. I love the archway of flowers that lead to the gazebo down in the lover park of my Great Aunt’s manor . Walking under the canopy of flowers on a warm day with that heady smell, is what I’d imagine it would be to walk through the gateways of heaven.
Oh, I’m not a “believer” but I am a child of my culture. Here’s a drawing I made when I was ten of an angel. I always loved angels…and by the time I was 18 I had quite a collection of angel cards.
When I was little my Great Aunt used to babysit with my when Mom went to work. During story hour, because she always had a story hour, sometimes she’d talk about heaven and the Pearly Gates, however, she always added a flowered angel archway up to the gates. Guess she was inspired by her garden archway.
Funny, they found her just a few steps from the gazebo one early spring day. She was 86 by then, and though she wasn’t ill, no one was surprised that she’d passed away. remembering her stories, I always wondered if she’d the impression of passing through the flowered angel archway before she finally lost consciousness.
archways and angels
inviting tales from childhood
a gazebo waits
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm Robert Burns
Blackout
In Italy the saying goes: “Revenge is a plate best served cold.” Unfortunately (or maybe not), Leonella isn’t the sort of woman who puts her anger aside to seek revenge. She never plans revenge, but neither does she allow a slight to pass her by with some sort of reply.
The day that she received the letter from the electric company stating she hadn’t paid her light bill, was annoying. She got out her receipts and sent a copy to the address provided for just that purpose. So, when three weeks later, her power got shut off, you can imagine her anger.
She screwed up her brows and began to give battle, getting angrier and angrier with every step she took to get the wrong she’d been done righted. First the phone calls to a number provided which was of course a call center…and to no avail. Then a trip to her local light company…the lady in the office on her computer was very nice and found the mistake, corrected it and said the power would be back in a matter of hours…which it wasn’t. When she went back to the office, it was closed, for the weekend.
The problem finally straightened itself out, but her freezer load of food was ruined and she’d had to pass the weekend in a hotel. She changed her light company and took the former company to court. Won the case and was awarded recompensation…but her wrath never cooled…to this day when you mention the name of the company her eyes flash.
blackout then anger
careless errors mutiply
revenge sought in wrath
The sun shone relentlessly down on us that day the temperature hit 50°C, practically a cool day in the Danakil Depression, when we made our discovery.
We’d put together our small expedition a week earlier. Jean-Jacque, Marcel, Marie-ann and myself. We left Djibouti where we lived a long with with a couple of trusted Afar guides. Moussa, whom we’d known now for about 4 year and one of his cousins. He said knew of a place where we could “dig up bones”.
We didn’t expect to find another Lucy or any of her relatives…well, we didn’t expect to, but we sure would have liked to!
We set up camp and the next morning we began to look into the area Moussa thought might be interesting. After a week, there they were, our first finds!
What they were we couldn’t quite tell, obviously not an Australopithecus, more like a small dinosaur! For days, we worked around the site with brushes, photographing every so often to document the various stages of our work. Then not far away from the first dig, Jean-Jacques found another treasure trove and even a small silver earring!
At last we could identify the bone we’d completely uncovered!
Sigh, a camel…ancient perhaps but still too “young” to be interesting or even dated.
love of history
sirene call of the past
camels and silver
Running down the street shouting, clutching my suitcase in one hand and my umbrella in the other, I tried to get the bus driver’s attention. The last passenger descended as I reached the back-end of the vehicle.
Wow, I though, I’ve made it but the bus started rolling forward, my shouts went unheard.
Resigned, I began to walk home, cutting through the countryside. As I arrived in my village, the bus passed me on its return trip into town.
The old covered wagon had set out in the back of the museum for years. Every once and a while a committee got together and restored the canvas covering, or pitched the wood to save it from insects.
Of course, it had it’s own bit of history. No one really remembered how the wagon got there though. The years had passed and ironically, memory failed most of the people associated with the museum. People just thought of it as the covered wagon.
“Marvin, aren’t there any historical documents about the covered wagon? Nothing at all?” Mary enquired.
“Nope, except for a bill of sale from the Johnstons. Anyway, it’s a covered wagon, a bit of history in its own right…whatever.” He said distractedly.
“Can I go through the archives?”
“Sure, sure…”
She looked for months and like many before her she never found any reference to the covered wagon. It was just one of hundreds of others that had gone through the town back in the late 1800s. The only interesting thing was that it was still there.
Of course it has its story, known only to itself. A sad little story. It was really a very common story to hundreds of other families throughout that period. A husband with his young wife and new born child. A case of diphtheria. The baby and young wife died. The man sold his wagon and abandoned his hopes and his dreams to a small farmer on the outskirts of town, he became an alcoholic. No one remembers his name, maybe they never knew it. Eventually, it being a useful piece of property, the wagon was salvaged then it was sold years later to the museum society.
A covered wagon…it’s history…whatever.
word count: 288
@)—>—>—
WHATEVER
1. (pronoun) a: anything or everything that
b: no matter what : regardless of what
Used in questions that express surprise or confusion
2. (adjective) a: all the
b: any ; any … that
Used to refer to something that is not known
3. (adverb) Used to show that something is not important
Remember:
• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
• The word itself needs to be included in your response.
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
• Only one entry per writer.
• If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
The bowl lay overturned on the floor, a rough crack running down one side.
“Oh shit, shit, shit!” she cried looking down at her favorite Beardsley bowl. She’d put it on the edge of her glass table and choked it full of makeup to photograph the result for a publicity contest she hoped to win. Then, the phone rang.
She always wears a flapping poncho in the winter and as she’d grabbed for the phone nearby, the poncho hit the bowl which fell with a crash.
The phone had stopped ringing but the memories started humming.
1982, Rome Italy. She passed by a lovely ceramics shop every morning going to work which was going out of business. In the window, was a beautiful black and white Beardsley bowl. She’d coveted it for weeks, but it was still just too expensive even if it was down 80%.
She and James sat in a café near the shop, sipping cappuccino when all of a sudden James jumped up.
“Wait here a minute will you?” he’d said and left the café.
20 minutes later, he walked back into the café with a colorfully wrapped box.
“Here…an early Christmas present!” he’d said.
She’d opened the box and there it was the bowl she’d been wanting so bad for so long.
The years had passed and so had their romance. Each had gone their separate ways, the only thing that had remained was the bowl. She looked at it and sighed. The crack ran right through the design completely ruining the bowl. Somehow it seemed right though. She picked everything up and put the bowl in the trash bin.
from lines and colors
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Noreen Crone-Findlay talks about the crafts she loves with her friend, Tottie Tomato. They'll be sharing tutorials, how to's and step by steps for spool knitting, crochet, doll making, small loom weaving, wood working, paper crafts and all manner of other fun crafts. This is a family friendly blog.
Carpe Diem's Tanka Splendor is part of the Carpe Diem Haiku Family. It's a weekly tanka-meme in which you can write and share tanka inspired on a given prompt every Saturday (mostlty, sometimes it will be on another day).
Noreen Crone-Findlay talks about the crafts she loves with her friend, Tottie Tomato. They'll be sharing tutorials, how to's and step by steps for spool knitting, crochet, doll making, small loom weaving, wood working, paper crafts and all manner of other fun crafts. This is a family friendly blog.
Carpe Diem's Tanka Splendor is part of the Carpe Diem Haiku Family. It's a weekly tanka-meme in which you can write and share tanka inspired on a given prompt every Saturday (mostlty, sometimes it will be on another day).
Bastet and Sekhmet's Library 