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The Sleeper Wakes

30 Nov

100 words to greet the dawn for old time’s sake and my friends at Friday Fictioneers based on a photo below by Jan Wayne Fields.

camping

(Copyright Jan Wayne Fields)

I rise at dawn and stand by the temple bell to give thanks and greet the morning. Gold paints the forest ridges that rise to the mist shrouded summit of Totokoroa. Calls of bell birds ring across the valley. A breeze ruffles the fabric of the tent. I strike the bell softly. It’s deep, resonant note sounds, and joins the music of the day’s beginning.

I make tea and return to bed. The smoky fragrance of Lapsang Souchong causes a figure sleeping there to stir. I whisper in her ear.

“The sun is on the mountain.”

And she smiles.

 

totokoroa-dawn

Dream of the Dragonfly

26 Feb

A hundred words for Friday Fictioneers inspired by the photo prompt below.

Railroaded

(Copyright Dawn Landau)

The air above the railbed was still and warm, redolent with creosote and the scent of honeysuckle that grew in wild abandon along the embankments.

Behind him, where his past still lived, burnished steel rails vanished below a thunderhead through which lightning forged erratic pathways, sudden and silent. Ahead of him the rails stretched toward the future and merged with a quicksilver horizon beneath the wide blue sky.

Does the Universe want us happy, he wondered?

A rainbow-hued dragonfly hovered on filigreed wings beside him, then whispered down the tracks in answer, away from the storm and into the light.

(to edit)blue dragonfly

Long Time Coming

24 Dec

99 words for Friday Fictioneers, a caravan of sorts. People come and go at will, but their stories remain. The good ones are like rain in the desert.

 

Long Time Coming

 

After walking for an eternity over endless dunes, he came upon salvation in a verdant glade nestled between green valley walls shaded by long white clouds. Kneeling in reverence and gratitude, he placed his hands on either side of a slick fosse and inhaled the fragrance of moss-furred walls.

When his lips met wetness, warm and tremulous, he waited, savoring the moment. It was a sweet thing to be so close, to feel the wellspring of life tremble beneath him, and to know that he could drink deep until sated.

That night he slept and dreamt of geysers erupting.

 

Geyser dreams

A Little Trim

6 Aug

100 words for Friday Fictioneers, a tiny band of writers on the winding road of life whose journey each week sometimes includes writing a short story based on a photo prompt (shown below courtesy of Bjorn Rudberg). The head of the road crew is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

A Little Trim

(Copyright Bjorn Rudberg.)

The woman who cuts my hair smells of lavender and sometimes the sea if she has gone swimming in the morning. Barefoot, in jeans, her fuchsia silk blouse unbuttoned just so, she leans close as she works and tells me how the water felt on her skin or of the color of the dawn.

I sit still and erect, every sense on edge until she finishes. She never asks if I am satisfied.

I pay, then press my tip into her warm hands.

“Come again.” She smiles.

The men in her waiting room frown at me as I leave.

 

 

TunderheadMadeira

Going Disc Golfing

18 Jun

There’s only one thing I love more than writing and that’s Disc Golfing. I try not to go on about it lest the very mention of the sport turn into something like this….

Disc golf

…but I’m off to the mainland tomorrow to compete in the (Halt and the Lame Division) 32nd annual Kansas City Wide Open Disc Golf Championship. The following weekend I’ll travel east to Jefferson City, MO. to play in the 30th annual Mid-America Open (Same division). In my brain the two weekends will look and feel sort of like this (a shot which resulted in a birdie)…

Going disc golfing

…but that’s another story…

Disc golf stories

…and I just wanted to let my regular readers (to whom I am quietly grateful and deeply indebted in ways they may never know) where I’ve disappeared to for the next two weeks. I’ll be back with some swag and two trophies (That’s the spirit, laddie!) and some blah, blah, blah-bitty-blah, disc golf stories to share.

Aloha,

Doug

The Nerve (II)

18 Jun

100 words for Friday Fictioneers. (A reposting this week as per Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s suggestion. Coincidentally, I will be on the road for two weeks, so her idea could not have come at a better time.)

When I first posted this story (The Nerve) it was woefully overlong at 147 words because I had yet to master the fine art of slicing, dicing and killing my darlings. For this post I decided to try to pare it down to 100 words. The result, again based again on a fine picture by Mary Shipman, can be read below. For those of you with time on your hands, you might want to check out the original and compare it to this one just to see what got blown away. Or not. I’ll never know. (I’ll try to comment on your stories when I can this week and next, but expect me only if you see me. Mahalo.)

Should I get taken to the Land of Oz on my travels and not be able to find my way back, please know I meant every word I ever said.

I love all of you.

 

Aloha, D.

 

 

Copyright Mary Shipman

 

The funnel cloud writhed, sinuous and silent above rich farmland.

If you’re going to stay up there, say hello to the Wizard for me,” screamed my wife from the cellar. A shrew and a control freak, she had long ago become oil to my water.

“Courage,” I heard Bert Lahr intone.

A thunderous roar filled the air as the tip touched down across the street and blew the Baum’s house to splinters.

Time to fly.

My last thought before darkness descended was that the witch was finally going to have to get some new wallpaper for the living room.

 

 

Swan Song

1 Jan

100 words to end 2013 in a bad way and start 2014 in a good way. You’ll get my drift eventually, if not now. My gift to fast friends and faithful readers is that you really don’t need to comment on this entry as it is not a story as I understand the definition.

My thanks to Madison Woods for starting Friday Fictioneers and to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for keeping it going. I have learned a great deal during my two years of writing here, not the least of which is that less is more. Time to put it to good use. May 2014 be a sweet year for you and your writing projects.  Aloha, D.

Swan Song

First I wrote about a dog that talked the little girl into climbing the tree before a giant sinkhole swallowed their house…. Lassie saving Timmy, I know. Been there, done that.

Next try was about the silly questions women ask men. (Do these pants make my butt look big?) How to alienate half your readers, right? Next.

Talking dog? (Really?) (Not.) Shelved that. Started over.

This is my last attempt.

From high in the gum tree, little Poppy could see swans on the lake in the park next door. Their sweet siren voices called to him…

Rudyard's dog