bananas

I knew it was not going to be my best race. Diane really wanted to do this 5K with a buddy though, and how could I say no? I laced up and tried to get my head in the game. 

Just like that, we were off. After the initial rush of the start, Diane pointed out a runner ahead of us, and we silently agreed to overtake them. Once that was done, she picked another one.

Before I knew it, we could see the finish line ahead at the top of a rise. We knew what we had to do. Diane and I had a longstanding pact that we must pick up our pace for any hill. We grimly glanced at each other, then laid on the coal.

Breathless, we sailed across the finish line. Panting and sweating, we gratefully grabbed the bottles of water held out to us. As we walked off the race, we each snagged a banana, too.

Finally, we tumbled down onto the cool grass in the shade of a big tree. We looked at each other with goofy smiles. 

Diane held her banana up in the air.

“To your best personal time ever!” she proclaimed.

I held my banana up, too. “And to yours!” 

We clinked our bananas together in happy celebration.

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Many thanks to Eugi’s Causerie for another great prompt!

nest

downy feathers weave themselves into the nest
holding ever closer 
the needy hatchlings
tended with devotion 
their unquestioned cries answered again and again
until the day comes
when the dream bears fruit

the heart beats dreams into existence

the hatchling loves herself enough
to noisily demand sustenance
and knows love inevitably speaks to that demand
she aspires, bolder every day, without doubt,
to her wholeness

but what of unanswered cries?
what of the lone and tired shadow
gathering food in a barren terrain?
wandering in a dreamless pause
searching with the hatchling’s faith
when dreams refuse to come
the heart pleads

knowing dreams are born in love

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fugitive

he walks out of the darkness, hands in the air, to be met with either a spray of bullets or handcuffs. does one mean life and the other doesn’t? imprisonment began long before the moment of guilt. when the gavel comes down, that cell door slams, or voltage snuffs the breath, then hands are washed but stains persist. mankind asks what kind of man but neglects to query kindness. the fugitive, the walking amalgam, just like other animals, born and constructed, shaped along the months and years of his life, carrying the weight of generations and the stamp of his place and times, finally becomes just a reviled memory, but still and always forgotten, another flawed discard on the manufacturing floor.

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nature

the trees call out to me
grasses sing their siren call
birds warble their invitation
butterflies whisper theirs
the river murmurs its low, insistent plea
the spanning sky holds out its arms to me
as all the growing things hail entreaty
i hear the many voices of the chorus 
and cannot help but run to them
instinct pulls me toward the mothering font
i am hers and she is mine.

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So grateful to Eugi’s Causerie for this beautiful prompt!

as yourself

A photo showing a portion of a stained glass window.

churches dot the corners of all
cities and towns, big and small,
spires reach up to the heavenly gates
even as community disintegrates,
saying love your neighbor as yourself.

the skies are scattered with satellites
tracking life in bits and bytes
up to Mars and beyond we go
so much knowledge, we think we know,
best love your neighbor as yourself.

better armed than all the foes
donate dollars to fix the woes
technology will save the planet
the discordant voice, go ahead, just ban it,
but love your neighbor as yourself.

for all we learn and all we see
life remains a mystery
there could be a reason though
for hearts that somehow feel and know
to love your neighbor as yourself.

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growing things

Photo courtesy of Eugi’s Causerie

The trail takes a long, slow curve and I emerge onto a gentle slope, a vast sun-washed meadow of grasses and spindly flowers — all undulating with the breeze. My feet meet the earth with each step. Under that tender blue sky, I am but another growing thing, beautiful and free.

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Thank you, Eugi’s Causerie, for another delightful prompt and photo. This week’s prompt, “meadows.”

yeah, might be the soil

this place
isn’t dark
it’s just empty
completely barren
every now and then
i do see
some bright thing
way over there
on the edge of things
but it’s always fleeting
like a falling star on the far, low horizon
i keep planting things
so that something will grow
in this endless empty space
but nothing takes
maybe it’s the soil
or just not enough sunshine
i get tired of trying
i suppose i could try
painting things again
at least maybe that would help
this space 
look occupied

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at the artist’s cottage, a drabble

Courtesy of Eugi’s Causerie

His cottage looked out to the waves and the sky. Paints, brushes, and canvasses in varying states of completion filled the space. His lonely time on the bluff fueled creative landscapes highly prized by art lovers. 

Then one day, the woman with the black hair knocked on his door. Now, he lay idle, his fingers mingled loosely in those raven strands, inspiration long evaporated in a haze of romance.

“Today, my love? Please, pick up your brush again,” she coaxed.

He knew he was done with landscapes. 

He stared into her sapphire eyes. New inspiration flickered.

“Yes, today,” he smiled.

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Thank you to Eugi’s Causerie for the prompt, “mingle,” and the accompanying photo.