This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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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.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Story in the Clouds

Photo by C. John Edwards
his blogs are -
and website -
Suggested prompt...
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Stop and look up at the clouds,
there is writing there. Share how you are inspired.



_________________________

Riley stared acoss the open water. The quiet breeze filled his lungs with the damp tang of salt and minerals. Blinking, he tried to rid his eyes of the grit and salt collecting in the corners, most of which had come from tears.

His breathed hitched. Tears. He was nearly empty, his face convulsing as the thought of her so far away wrapped his mind in a blanket of white pain. Nothing came, except two small drops that evaporated quickly in the air.

He lifted his head up, staring off into the long distance between the shocking white of the clouds. They billowed slowly, rolling, coiling: liquids of different densities dancing with one another in the silent dance of phase changes.

A cormorant soared overhead, searching for fish in the bay. Flight. Riley shook his head. There wasn't much time. The last flight out for the next week would be leaving within the hour. He waved to the bird and turned, running to his car, calculating the time and distance to salvation.

Behind him, the clouds continued their quiet pas de deux, slowly disappearing into a haze of azure memories.

~
Irish Gumbo


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14 comments:

Irish Gumbo said...

Riley stared acoss the open water. The quiet breeze filled his lungs with the damp tang of salt and minerals. Blinking, he tried to rid his eyes of the grit and salt collecting in the corners, most of which had come from tears.

His breathed hitched. Tears. He was nearly empty, his face convulsing as the thought of her so far away wrapped his mind in a blanket of white pain. Nothing came, except two small drops that evaporated quickly in the air.

He lifted his head up, staring off into the long distance between the shocking white of the clouds. They billowed slowly, rolling, coiling: liquids of different densities dancing with one another in the silent dance of phase changes.

A cormorant soared overhead, searching for fish in the bay. Flight. Riley shook his head. There wasn't much time. The last flight out for the next week would be leaving within the hour. He waved to the bird and turned, running to his car, calculating the time and distance to salvation.

Behind him, the clouds continued their quiet pas de deux, slowly disappearing into a haze of azure memories.

Dan Felstead said...

I am six years old again. Looking out my bedroom window, I see the July sky and my friends have returned! Hurrying as fast as I can, I throw on pants and a t-shirt, grab a glass of kool-aid and run to the crest of the hill just beyond my backyard. Finding my favorite spot...the spot where my friends know to find me and lay down on my back, looking up in anticipation. And there they are...they drift from horizon to horizon past me like a 4th of July parade. A horse, a dog, dad's car, a tree, a guitar...new friends each day. Mom says I have a very active imagination but my friends and I know it's much more than imagination. July skies with those white bloated, wispy visitors were some of the best friends I ever had.

Dan

TesoriTrovati said...

There is nothing inspired about the clouds today.
Dr. Suess’ many colored days are
stuck
repeating the hushed stillness
of this non-color…
'Gray day.
Everything is gray.
I watch but nothing moves today.'
There is nary a ripple
on the dove gray horizon
signaling
more cold in the forecast.
No sun
peeking through
to cast long finger shadows
on the lumpy comforter
blanketing all.
The world lays silent,
still,
a frosty vanilla landscape.
In coloring book outlines,
the trees
stretch forth their
lifeless limbs
awaiting
the promise of new life
and crowning glory
slumbering deep in
buried roots.
I wait for the promise of spring
fluffy storybook clouds
painting a picture
in the great upturned cerulean bowl of a sky.
Inspiration sleeps within
and under the flannel warmth of
my mood
just as the snow
protects
the promises within
and all around
for the magical thaw
springing forth new life and
new ideas.

Enjoy the day!
Erin, TesoriTrovati

Scriptor Senex said...

Constable was fascinated by clouds. He said something about them never being the same from second to second. He was, of course, correct. I could sit and watch them for hours. Indeed, when I stay with my brother in the Outer Hebrides I do just that. Sit and watch. Sit and watch. For hours.

avr said...

Fluffy, cotton ball clouds fill the sky. Lots of them and they expand wide. They are too many to count, but you can look up and picture yourself on one of them. Just floating and moving along, ever so slowly, no real direction, with not a care in the world. You feel lite as a feather; if only this could last forever.

Simply Heather said...

This prompt is God's subtle way of reminding me of something I've long buried...wow, another treasure pulled from the closet within and dusted off.

I'm not surprised but in awe of the ways He grabs my attention.

Years ago, I drew a picture of a little cloud with arms raised and looking into the sky. Under him, I wrote "If you keep your face to the SONshine, you won't see the shadow." ~ similar to Helen Keller's words once written.

I gave this to my mom to brigthen her day. Awhile later, she gave me the beginnings of a story that The Lord placed on her heart and had nothing in her to finish it. One day she handed me the story and it was as if I had that story in me all along. I took it home, prayed and finished the story.

Later, I shared it in one of our church magazines but that's as far as I went with the sharing. BUT...I know how God gets my attention, and nearly every day; someone would say something about clouds, I'd read something, I'd look up in the sky (obviously there were clouds..I know...but) and see the littlest cloud setting by itself all alone. I procrastinated (I tend to do that).

The story I wrote was about "The Littlest Cloud". It wasn't my story, it was a story written through a mother and daughter with God's heart filling the pages.

I will find it and post it on my site very soon.

I had to share this though. I saw the prompt a few times today and it keeps saying "over here, take a look at me". When I saw whose photo it was, it brought me even more clarity of a message to share it ;o).

Thank you for encouraging me, continually ~

NLL said...

No clouds here on the mountain today. The sky at a mile-high is sapphire blue and clear. Naked oaks stretch their already winter-weary arms toward the blue above, asking, "Are we there yet?" Sky responds, "No, much more white, not-so-fluffy stuff yet to come your way - if you're lucky, that is." Oaks answer, "Oh, okay. We need the moisture. Thanks."

Too trite? How about a simple - It's a gorgeous day on the mountain!

shabby girl said...

I remember after my father died, I could "feel" him in the clouds. There were clouds everyday for a while. I imagined him sitting on the edge of one, watching us. I knew that was my imagination, but I "knew" he was there.
My father was an alcoholic and with that came all of the tortured issues that that entails. Missed birthdays, no-show Christmases, late night arguments heard from my bed.
I remember one Christmas eve when all of us kids wanted to open just one gift on Christmas eve. My mother said we would have to wait until my father got home. We excitedly watched the clock from 5 o'clock, minute by minute, until none of us mentioned it again, and then went to bed.
Then the times (plural) that I would go to his apartment, thirty minutes on the bus, because we had planned to spend time together on the weekend. He was never home. Crossing the street, I would always find him at the bar. "No, honey, I'm working. We'll do it next weekend."
When I got married, another no show. My brother gave me away.
When I was older, with kids of my own, and he was sickly and bedridden, he mentioned to me that he was always afraid that he would miss seeing me grow up (him dying). Well, he did miss it, but not the way he thought. He never saw it.
When he died, I went to work, not knowing what else to do. But he was present in the clouds. I know that for sure. That lasted about a week and then he was gone.
I'm grateful for that bit of time. It was like redemption and forgiveness.

Hedgie said...

Look -- God's furballs!

for blue skies. said...

Breathe in the air, so cleansing
Look up at the sky, and just see
blend in with everything
become part of it
the whole world floating by
in the breeze with the clouds
it passes you by and you just let it
let it go

for blue skies. said...

let it go
until your not watching anymore
forget what you held on to
be free

you're alone, but you couldnt be happier
this beauty captures your heart
for the moment

it turns to rain clouds
it washes you away

for blue skies. said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Marc said...

Floating high above it all,
Listening to Raven’s bleak call,
Watching the hurry below,
Wondering why They do not slow.

Why must They scowl up at me,
When I set a few tears free?
Don’t They know for Them I weep,
When Their pledge They fail to keep?

With all that They’ve done to Earth,
And not seeing Water’s worth,
I think Our time is at hand -
This is not what He had planned.

Simply Heather said...

I posted my story today. It's called The Littlest Cloud ~ thought I'd share it with you.