They Roll In

Day 182 of 365:

{One Word Writing Prompt: Clouds}

I’m watching them roll in now, as I sit here.  The day grows long.  A breeze kicks up every few moments.  I have the feeling we are inching towards something.  An altered state, of sorts.  The clouds, they build slowly, without making too much of a fuss.  At first appearance, they are soft and fluffy, like bits of cotton candy, cheerful and luscious.

They are quiet, for now.

But slowly, they build.   And darken.  And Envelope.  They put me on edge.

And they grow, and then grumble…..until…..

Until the entirety of the sky, once blue and, except for the Sun, vacant, is awash in a thick veil of nothing but grey.

They threaten, when they roll in.  They bring a darkness that can not possibly lead to good.  They bring a chill to the air, they shroud the light.

Not to mention the rain, inevitable, wet and cold.  It will come.  It always comes, when they roll in.  IMG_4831

So they are here.  Blue skies turned to bleak, ominous, flat shades of grey.  They impose, the clouds do.  They impede.

But just as easily as they roll in, they roll out too.   We must never forget that.

The clouds.

curved

 

Namaste,

 

-Janice 🙂

 

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Linked

Day 159 of 365:

{One Word Writing Prompt: Connected}

connected


Namaste,

 

-Janice 🙂

 

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Spork and Foon

Day 148 of 365:

{One Word Writing Prompt: Fork}

Take your offerings – they do not appeal to me.  The words you serve leave a sour residue on my tongue.

That dish you hold out looks pretty enough, from a distance, but the things you want me to swallow taste bitter, rancid and stale.

You toss around negativity with the dexterity of an ace culinarian, with spoonfuls of animosity in generous portions.  Perhaps, at first, your artfully arranged plate deceived me.  But now I have tasted what you dish.20160527_182828-001

And I will not have seconds.

So take your platter, and all that weighs it down: The rot.  The raw.  The stench of it all.  I want no part of anything you attempt to deliver.

The food you serve, is only ripe with deception, and plentiful in pain.  Put them back into the bottom of the barrel from which you scraped them up.

You may sling words like they are treasures and feasts to behold and to fill.

But all this fodder does not fit on my fork.

And besides…

I would rather starve.


More fiction.  The idea of no longer being able to stomach what someone serves you, of not allowing their “food” to sit on your fork, kind of resonates with one of the characters in the project  I am currently writing.  It’s a funny process, with these writing prompts – my ideas come out furiously, and I don’t really do a whole lot of refining before I hit ‘publish’.  This is quite raw and unpolished, but it fits.  


 

Namaste,

 

-Janice 🙂

 

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