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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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There is no deadline on posting,
you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Majestic

and FamilyAffairPhotography.blogspot.com
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Suggested prompt...
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Mountain Majesty
Write of the beauty of a mountain.



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This mountain is my sovereign, and while I bow and pay obeisance to her majesty, I know that I must always, always respect her, for if, in an unguarded moment, I become casual or cavalier in my attitude, she will punish me cruelly, as is her right. For she must maintain her immutable power; it is why others look to her in awe.

~ S. Kay Murphy

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10 comments:

Simply Heather said...

This mountain, so strong, so secure
Strength
Stands tall and mighty
Holding all of the trees, the rocks, the life
In it’s strength

This mountain, so beautiful, so white
In it’s appearance
Lives growing and dying to life
Appearance

This mountain proves God
In strength and appearance
As it boldly fits into the piece of creation
We call the earth
This mountain

S. Kay Murphy said...

This mountain is my sovereign, and while I bow and pay obeisance to her majesty, I know that I must always, always respect her, for if, in an unguarded moment, I become casual or cavalier in my attitude, she will punish me cruelly, as is her right. For she must maintain her immutable power; it is why others look to her in awe.

avr said...

Wow, majestic is a great way to describe it. The mountain rises above all else, knowing it cannot easily be reached. Not even the white funnel like clouds can. It challenges anyone to climb it for they know the fate that can await them. I can't take my eyes off of it, I want to touch it but it is just too far.

Wildspirit said...

I am the Queen, majestic in my white veil and flowing green attire as the winter sun rises to my eastern face;
no foul stench of the valley wind assails my nostrils, no blanket of brown, particulate-laden poisonous air gets any further than my foothills, the poor things. But with any luck they will ascend through the mess.

I feel the encroachment of the human race; they are like mites as they rustle up my flanks; some of them are good, but mostly they care not a whit what happens to me. They're not Avon oriented, I guess, but they do love those oily products which destroy them and which pronounce my own untimely demise.

There is nothing I can do; I am aging, my beauty fades---there are loyal followers who pamper me, there are still people fainting when they reach my bosom and find that mother Earth breathes and sighs. Oh, the beauty of youth is fleeting; my sisters across the globe have the same problems, although a few still have their their pert pointed pulchritudinous peaks and arrogance of youth, some exhaling the breath of fire to keep the multitudes a good distance away. Their royalty is assured for...for who knows how little precious time?

I see, more than anyone, the sooty cloak of death from the metropolis spread, the urban sprawl in the west, yet that and those terrible fires produce some beautiful sunsets for me, and I am flattered that photographers find my countenance so commanding, so alluring. They help me forget. They seem to focus more on my coiffure than the majesty of me as a whole, however, but that's just the nature of the beast, I guess.
I have given them the best days of my life, wearing a necklace of gossamer mist, my face aglow with the fading sunlight; I always look best in the evening, don't you agree? I can't help it, I'm female, part of Mother Earth, so forgive me if I blow up a little storm. You're lucky I don't let off a little steam.

On rare occasions I wear a crown, sometimes two. Those are very special to me. I embrace the photographers and they give back to me. So they are my special people, along with the poets. I may age, my beauty may fade, but I am always willing to accommodate admirers. Oh, where are those Avon ladies?

_we_the_pieces_ said...

The mountain is a queen. Tall, and beautiful. And cold. It commands a presence. You know it, through and through. Or you think you do. It can never truly be known. The beauty of it is sharp. Sharp and powerful. Composed. You cannot read it. Yet it is untamed. The mountain can survive the insults, the challenges that are thrown upon it. The mountain remains.

Monica said...

People go about business as usual, unaware of the majestic beauty towering over their city. I often wonder, do they only look at their shuffling feet as they trod off to work? Do they not look up to see the wondrous, glorious sight before them?

Many times I have my eyes and camera focused on her. People will stop and ask what is it that I’m photographing. Can one really be so immune to this majestic beauty?

There are days she will shroud herself in cloud cover and remain hidden for weeks. I miss her and look daily in her direction. I know she is there waiting for the right moment to reveal herself, when she does it’s sure to take your breath away … if you aren’t impervious to her majestic beauty.


Mt Rainier is magical, mysterious and most certainly majestic!

Monica said...

I want to thank all who were inspired to write today. Mt Rainier has lifted my spirits on many occasion and I truly wish I everyone could experience her beauty in person. Again, thank you as I enjoyed each of the writings.

Monica

Wildspirit said...

Monica, your Mt. Rainier photo was indeed an inspiration, but as I thought, I saw the mountain nearest me, Mt. San Jacinto--not as spectacular, perhaps, but nevertheless majestic and awe-inspiring. Thank you for the inpsiration and keep the mountain gods happy!

shabby girl said...

Fantastic photo! It has an other-worldly feeling to it. Love it!

NLL said...

From my office window, I see the eastern ridge that separates my small village from the desert side of the mountain. Often, the setting sun sets the massive granite outcrop we call Tahquitz Rock ablaze. In the winter, when storms dump their icy load on the mountain, I can see each individual tree on that ridge flocked white by nature.

Mountains are magical. When you live on the flatlands, coming up to the mountains allows you to feel your stress dropping away as you gain elevation. For those of us living here, the challenge of living so close to nature brings both challenges and huge rewards. Living where the year revolves in four, full seasons regenerates my soul as each season brings its own special beauty and energy. I know that each autumn the mountain begins preparing for its long winter nap and each spring it awakens again and sends forth new life and new beauty. And every summer and early fall, we hold our breath wondering if this year it will be our turn, here on this mountain, to endure the horror of a massive wildfire.

Nothing comes free. Every single thing that we are given has a price-tag attached. Being able to heat our home in winter with free oak firewood costs us dearly in hard, hard labor, harvesting the wood, splitting and stacking it in the woodshed, and hauling up to the house to stack again on the back porch. But, when a big storm blows in, looking out the kitchen window at that wonderful rack of wood just a couple steps out the back door feels really, really good. So does the cozy warmth the woodstove gives the house.

Mountain life is not like living anywhere else I've ever been. Every day there is something physical that can be done. Just taking a walk at a mile-high is more than a casual stroll for most people. Driving home from somewhere "off the Hill", we always have to question if we'll encounter clouds laying their blanket of fog along the route or, in the winter, if the rain we're experiencing below has turned to snow, or worse, black ice, yet. When the snow melts, it runs across the roads, then freezes during the night. Walking or driving anywhere on the mountain the next morning becomes dangerous and smart people drive four-wheel drive vehicles and walk with ice-treads slipped over their boots.

In the summer, the cost of water here makes gardening a very expensive hobby. Growing tomatoes here produces great taste at great cost. Strawberries, too. But roses love the decomposed granite mixed with home-grown compost and thrive - if I can keep enough water on them through the warm growing season.

I grew up in Iowa where the land is so flat you can see the next town 30 miles away on a clear day. Living here, in the shadow of the peak of Mount San Jacinto, our decision to move here to live full-time eight years ago is affirmed every morning. Every day my husband and I wake, open the front door, draw in a long breath of glorious, cool, clean air and say, "Isn't this a beautiful day!"