Still Presence #writephoto

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Photo Source: Sue Vincent

The land called to those who wanted to hear her. The rest wandered in idle enjoyment of the still stones. They brushed careless hands across their surfaces, and felt for holes to climb. Sometimes they took out their pocket knives and chiseled what they thought to be forever love upon their granite faces. And the land watched in silence, waiting for those who could hear her.

She sang the forgotten song to those who remembered its melody. They felt it in their bones as they stood upon her raised mounds. Her notes caressed their skin in the embrace of mother love. Her song wove inward through membranes to find the memory of home. Joy, rupturing the heart into ecstasy and sorrow, she sang of a love so deep tears fell from opened eyes.

To show her love for her children, the land danced her stones. She sent her pulse through their inert bodies and brought life to their forms. She whispered through time to awaken her mysteries and the stones beckoned to those who listened.  The long waits, well-worth the heart opened in recognition, they offered magic to the hands that hugged their bodies close.

I remember you, they whispered into pressed ears. Welcome home. 

 

Thank you Sue, for the morning cry 😉 and for the photo prompt. To participate please click here

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Winter Calling #Calling #writephoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Strength reigns through the barren land

of naked limbs exposed to time

Without adornment horns lift the true

self and eyes peer through darkness

to find life in stillness. What would be frozen

softly beats the heart’s calling

stirring the fire inside that never dies

it waits with patience for the touch

of green renewal to shake the cold

world back to life

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For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto challenge. Interestingly, as I sat down to write about her photo, I glanced over at my teacup and noticed I had also chosen a stag/ reindeer for the morning. 

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Still Time #WritePhoto #Stillness

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The chief looked to the horizon, forever surveying the movement of water. All life was cataloged in its molecules, and the chief never tired of reading its memories. There was a comfort to living in this slow time of stone where stasis reminded people who passed by that there is a lingering but also a letting go. The water, forever rocking against the hard stone, eroded centuries and not minutes.

The chief had seen it all. He had watched the reckless shatter against his chest. The mighty who would defeat fall back into the belly of the womb as though returning to the beloved without choice. And, he had seen love, oh yes, he had seen love.

Each morning he watched the sun make love to Earth, filling her with the seeds of its golden light. He watched the sky blush into crimson before it widened into the blue expanse of truth, spreading open without end. Birds, defying gravity as they lifted to the beyond and danced love across the horizon. And in the deep below, he felt it. Love, spreading through liquid memory in the song of the whales and dolphins echoing the heartbeat of the goddess as it stirred through strata and sank deep into his bones.

For Sue Vincent’s Weekly #WritePhoto prompt #stillness

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The Copper Doorway #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The Copper Doorway

If you think death waits

for you at the end

of the long road

oh weary traveler, turn

back into the tunnel of darkness

to sweep the membrane clean

 In the black space hear the symphony

of life surrounding you and the Mother’s

breath singing the leaves

back into her body

 

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt. To participate, click here

 

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The Hermit #Harbinger #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The hermit curled his head into his folded feathers. It had a been a long day. Heck, who was he kidding? It had been a long century. He was getting old, too old to be doing this work. And, he was tired. The kind of tired that sets into your bones long before they are supposed to return to the soil. He blamed the humans. The hermit discovered the plague of their greed soon after they started pumping darkness into the veins of Earth five thousand years ago.

He didn’t want to feel like such a curmudgeon. In many ways he’d rather be flying blissfully unaware with the starlings. All they did was gossip and cackle about the other birds as they picked through the dirt for worms. The hermit wasn’t much for idle chatter, though. He never had been. Life would have been easier, he thought, if he had been born into a state of blissful ignorance, but life had chosen him to be a hermit. To fly alone as he surveyed the land and catalogued its history into memory cells. Now the weight was simply too much for his body. His wings were too tired to raise him off the ground, and instead folded inward, protecting the heart that was heavy with time. Soon his body would become one with the Earth from which he was born, and he found himself welcoming that day without sadness or trepidation.

Peace, he thought, finally I will be at peace. But what of the rest? Beneath his winged shoulders, blue feathers of truth betrayed him. It was not yet his time. He had agreed to be a harbinger of death, but also of life. And the golden child had not yet been born. The hermit must wait a little longer to pass on the memories in his cells. Only then could he rest in the knowing that someday the light would be returned.

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt Harbinger. Please click here to participate in the challenge. 

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#Murmur #WritePhoto #Poetry

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Murmur

I am the murmur in your heart

One thousand wings flutter you

awake. I am the golden kiss opening

your lips. My breath reaching inward

searching your darkness with light. I am

the sun, but also the moon. Night dancing

inside of you breaking dawn

into filaments of truth

witnessing the glory

of you rising to meet

me

 

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s weekly photo prompt. If you would like to participate, please click here.

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Frozen #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Frozen

In the midst of a world that appears frozen

follow the purple path within

Know that beyond the shadows holding darkness

there is always a source of light

reflecting truth. Waiting to melt the way

as it softens the heart that would stay cold

Indifference is the face of fear grown tired

Used to the battered landscape, the eyes refuse to see

the false hold. And so we remain frozen together

in stasis, an inert body wanting to be held

until the fever burns once again

into love

 

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #WritePhoto prompt. Click here to participate

 

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