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, April 14, 2009

Joy

Photo by Basir Seerat
visit Basir's photo blog at
http://www.basirseerat.blogspot.com/
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Suggested prompt...
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She ran with joy...



__________________________

Take these flowers to your mother.She ran. Catching the grass beneath her dress, mindless of the thorns and burrs riding along her legs. Her father's instructions were clear.

She passed the market. The blurry sea of smiling faces parted for her. Everyone knew what day it was when she was running.

The steps were long and cold. The road grew hot and dusty. She reached the slender willow, panting, leaning against its shaded embrace and letting her breath catch up.

Mother was waiting for her. Open arms, stone and cold like the earth. Her smiling face reflected the setting sun and she took the flowers, held them to her name and cried with the coming rain. Papa would be glad.

Though he couldn't bear to see the numbers on Mama's face, he never forgot what day it was.

~
Sarah

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10 comments:

cagrowngirl said...

She ran wqith joy in her heart,
She ran with a beaming smile for the world to see
She ran
And that is what mattered

I prayed that she would return ALIVE
But that is not what happened
IBut I saw her run with joy

She is up in heaven now...running and jumping with joy

morganna said...

Through the park
She ran with joy
Giddy with laughter
Clutching her flowers

She ran with joy
Down to the carrousel
Clutching her flowers
First prize

Down to the carrousel
To tell her parents
First prize
Singing her best

Giddy with laughter
Through the park
To tell her parents
Singing her best

Dan Felstead said...

I love Basir's photographs...always a great use of contrasting colors and in this one...great sense of motion.

I will get back later on the prompt.

Dan

Scriptor Senex said...

Another wonderful photo - as always it is a JOY to visit your blog!

Sarah said...

Take these flowers to your mother.She ran. Catching the grass beneath her dress, mindless of the thorns and burrs riding along her legs. Her father's instructions were clear.

She passed the market. The blurry sea of smiling faces parted for her. Everyone knew what day it was when she was running.

The steps were long and cold. The road grew hot and dusty. She reached the slender willow, panting, leaning against its shaded embrace and letting her breath catch up.

Mother was waiting for her. Open arms, stone and cold like the earth. Her smiling face reflected the setting sun and she took the flowers, held them to her name and cried with the coming rain. Papa would be glad.

Though he couldn't bear to see the numbers on Mama's face, he never forgot what day it was.

Wildspirit said...

Running, running, running
With joy or without,
The children of his country
make Basir's photos stand out.

SSQuo said...

Yellow and pink
And braids in my hair
I'm off to the park
No worry, no care

Marcus will come
And so will Shireen
Squish Squash
It's mud! we're no more clean

On to the game
Catch me if you can
I'm here, behind the tree
And now behind Uncle Dan

Come together little ones
It's getting dark
Your turn tomorrow Marcus
Sure, I'll be here at 4 sharp

SSQuo said...

Sarah that was lovely!

Dani said...

Wow Sarah- I love your entry!
---

I remember that day. I wore my pink and yellow party dress. I remember how the ruffles felt against my legs as they swung with my movement. How it looked so much like a pretty flower when I twirled. How it waved in the wind as I ran.

My hair was crimped and braided and my face was painted like a doll. Mother had spent so long doing my hair and make-up that day. How I would complain and wiggle and be scolded. How long it seemed to take. How I hated it. It was all in preparation for that show. I didn't want to be in the show. I didn't care about the show. She always made me be in the show. Every year I was in the show.

But that day it was different. I remember that day.

I was on the stage, dancing with the others the way I always had. When I saw him. He was hiding behind others in the crowd. He ducked when he noticed that I had seen him, but it was too late. I lept from the stage to my mother's horror. She was so shocked. I can still see her face. The wrinkles seemed deeper somehow as she shook her finger and scolded once more. But I didn't care.

I ran to him. That few hundred feet seemed so short in comparison to the long stretch of time since I had last saw my grandfather. He smiled through his tears and it felt wonderful to finally be in his arms again.

I remember that day. The day I knew for certain it had never been my fault that he'd gone. The day I knew for certain that I was loved. The day I knew for certain that I would never let my mother stand between us again.

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