Repast over, the painful realization: this dreaded disease was the catalyst for the rebirth of their relationship. The loss of him now – his music, his humor, his goodness, his fathering – only more profound.
The challenge: Last month we asked you to give us a killer opening line in exactly 33 words. This week we’re asking for an equally amazing closing line. It can be the ending to the story you began in the previous challenge or a completely different ending altogether. Just make sure it’s exactly 33 words.http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com
Music of the Mountain
Country roads wind their way
Quaint towns, once familiar hills and vales
Dismay, as malls of progress
Block farmland valleys.
The homeward trek continues – changes unfold.
Long driveway ahead
Stunning new stone gate;
Upscaled arena – superb symphonic space
Science center, sparkling in the sun.
So much missing:
The concert shed;
The moldy, memorable residence hall;
The meandering brook, my misty morning refuge.
Is nothing the same?
Cool crisp air floods my lungs.
Clarity, calmness, confirmation.
There – rising above, through feathery, filmy fog
Towering firs scaling the slope.
Listen! Life abounds beneath the canopy
Multitudes of melodious measures resume
Cleaving again, after all these years, ‘neath the mountain
My musical mountain – home.
Am I blue?
Loving, gifted grandsons,
Fairy tale family,
Ah, there it is… lachrymosa.
My “Shadow”, my sheltie.
Always near: my playmate, my pal, my patient.
She trusted me to care for her;
To know when to say “when”.
She needed saving…she was saved;
A day, a few precious weeks…months.
She’s healing, she’s walking, she’s eating,
A void is now, happily, filled…our perfect puppy:
Joie de vivre….ecstatic exuberance…we love him!
Still, a dull ache pulses softly beneath a smiling surface
Ever receding: open wound, scab, scar.
I am blue.
They expect her to be normal.
She tries, she obeys, she behaves
But normal isn’t in the cards!
For awhile, she heels;
For awhile, she straddles the fence;
For awhile she shows spurts of normalcy;
Until weirdness wins out.
They choose her ‘vocation’
Feigning support, they coax her
This way, that way, which way?
She endures the stares and sneers
She dares to go where she shouldn’t
She thwarts their unspoken (if suppressed) desire for failure.
The road never smoothed for her
Odds never evened.
Actions viewed through unforgiving filters
Achievements acknowledged, misunderstood.
Unpopular choices made
Paths less-traveled, chosen
She is blessed; she is happy;
Normal? Not so much!
In response to Trifecta Challenge week 36 (http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com)
1: a : a normal line b : the portion of a normal line to a plane curve between the curve and the x- axis 2: one that is normal 3: a form or state regarded as the norm : standard
PerspectiveDesignated location on rooftop deckShortcut through the alley;Suddenly, senses under attackThe city’s underbelly!Wait to exhale…Walk faster, closer and closerto the distant pinpoint of lightEmerge, gasping, from the alley!Exhale! Inhale! Breathe!Breathe in, breathe out,Revulsion recedesClimb worn stone steps to 4th floor Hurry! Wait! Survive – ’til day’s end.The alley awaits!Will I be chosen?Thought evolves; from alley – to ‘box’ – and backNausea gives way to nostalgia; Powerlessness to prideResponsibility! Right! Privilege!It’s 1972 – it’s 2012: years elapse; nothing changes.Jury Duty!
2 a (1) : having been seen, used, or known for a short time (2) : unfamiliar
b : being other than the former or old
3: NEW: having been in a relationship or condition but a short time <new to the job> <a new wife>
Mom was a photographer, displaying her motherly pride through the artistic expression of her photography. Eileen was a classic beauty.
We were a family of three and there were photos to prove it!
There were boxes and boxes of photos. There were snapshots and enlargements, painstakingly tinted and colored (Eileen was trying her hand at various methods of color transfer development techniques). There were beautiful photos, blurry photos, masterpieces and cast-aside ‘experiments’. Yet, all captured for posterity, precious moments in time.
I stare at a picture taken on a rooftop as daylight was dwindling. Mom was swaddling her infant in her arms. Dad gazed lovingly at us. What did they talk about up there on the roof that evening? Who took the picture? Was Dad reassuring her that their love could overcome the resistance from his Italian family, outraged because he married an Irish girl?
I wish I could time-travel and sit-in on our conversation. I would thank them and reassure them that I would love my sister, and later my brother; and that our special threesome would inevitably evolve to another, better model – Eileen, Nick and the three kids.
They could have waited with him
To ease the dread of the coming hours
But they sleep – weak, unaware,
Despite His enigmatic warnings.
He agonizes; he despairs
As long-foretold events
His mind flashes back
Tentative toddler steps
Tumbling into his Mothers arms
Foretelling tomorrow’s fall
She will be there – again – to cradle Him
As he falls to
On this eve, here in the garden
Friends nearby (all but one)
He stands alone;
On the edge of eternity
Embracing His dreaded, desired destiny
He stands alone.