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.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Urn

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood and
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Suggested Prompt...
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Together they put/placed/hid it in the urn...



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The Burial of Terran

When the earth god Terran died, his children, Aqua and Gia, took his body and buried it in a great pit. They called on the dragons that lived in the centre of the earth and asked them to breathe their fire onto Terran, as a last act of respect. Then they visited the giants in the mountains that people call the spine of the world, and they asked the giants to carry enormous slabs of granite and basalt to Terran’s pit. When the stones had been laid over the tomb, trapping the heat of the dragons’ breath inside, Aqua and Gia waited. While they waited they sang, and their songs brought life out of the ground and their tears nourished the soil. When enough time had passed and the stones over their father’s grave had grown cool to the touch, the two faithful daughters removed them and dug into the dirt. Terran’s body was no more. It had transformed, with the heat and the pressure, into a luminous diamond. Aqua and Gia lifted the diamond from its resting place and brushed the black graphite from it with great care. Then, carrying it together, they went to the urn in their mother’s garden and placed the diamond inside. Safely ensconced in earth once more, the diamond started to glow with a golden light that shone through the sides of the urn and illuminated the garden. When their mother saw what they had done, she hugged her daughters. She stood in the soft light, her face transfixed with love.

‘Your father is with us again,’ she said.

Inkpot

One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.

13 comments:

Sacha van Straten said...

Keeper of the secrets,
A gift from the priests
Of Hellas.
The darkest hour came
And they buried the god's words,
Safely stored from the Persian onslaught.

So many years swept past
The centuries of knowing,
When the wisdom of Olympus
Lay dusty and unremembered.
But the gods are patient,
Their time is the movement of boulders,
The crossing of oceans,
Carrying murmurs on the winds of the North.

And now the rising will unfold,
The wisdom of Hellas will unfurl
And stretch itself from island to island,
Crossing the wine-dark sea with vigour
And fervour, unravelling the mysteries
To those who seek it.

The urn knows this.
It has been the trireme of the ages,
Carrying its cargo like a sacred blood vessel,
Ready to bring the gods into being,
To breathe the fire of wisdom
Into the hearts of men.

This has been its purpose.
This has been its duty.
And soon its revelation
Will blossom into the spring time
Of a glorious age.

Simply Heather said...

First of all, Dan...I'm amazed at the beauty of this photo.

Now, my story is the conclusion to what I've written at the prompt below, titled Dried Mud.

As the days passed by and all arrangements were made for the funeral, she found herself lost in emotion. She carried herself into the pottery room and just sat there, thinking about how her mother had taught her to create with her hands. Forming and molding the depths of the earth to become more, to become useful pieces of worth and value.

As she sat there quiet, she heard her mother’s words again about listening and sharing the same Spirit. She looked up for only a moment and remembered that morning when she struggled so much to make that vase for her mother, leaving the flowers behind her and the reaction on her mother’s face when she entered her room with nothing but herself.

Caught in her sight was that vase; that vase that just wouldn’t cooperate, sitting on the shelf waiting for her attention. She went over to it, picked it up and noticed something that she’d not seen before. In the dried up mud, connecting in her minds sight was a flower…a single flower. It formed together so perfectly in the image of her mother’s favorite flower. That was when she understood. Even thought she would miss her mother, she knew that life would be okay. She would learn how to go on in the world, quietly listening for the inner voice of the Spirit they shared.

She ran in the house with the vase and told her father that she wanted her mother’s ashes to be placed inside. This was its purpose all along, and the both knew it. Together, they placed their most valued treasure on earth inside.

cagrowngirl said...

Today I placed her ashes in an urn
Never to return
She was a good dog nonetheless

I placed her in the urn today
I hid my emotions and tears in their to

She is now laid to rest and a part of me goes with her to

Dan Felstead said...

It was placed on the framed shelf sometime during the last millennium. Excavated in 1926. The volcanic ash preserved the interior wall perfectly. During the excavation the vase was removed for restoration but since it was filled with volcanic rock, to remove the contents would destroy the vase so the contents were left untouched.

This was the last photograph of the vase intact, taken before the devastating earthquake that hit the region last month. The violent retching dislodged the artifact from it's sanctuary leaving it in shattered pieces on the marble below. During cleanup, the sun's light reflected off the metallic object within...a key that had been encased inside the vase's volcanic grave for an epoch.

Scientists have called it a key...not one that opens doors but more like a teacher's answer key to a test. The contents of the key are digital but far beyond the capabilities of the MIT supercomputer thus far to translate to our language.

The answers that lie within the key will undoubtedly change our world from this point forward. The few surviving members of the Vatican Counsel are meeting among the ruins of St.Peter's Cathedral tomorrow to try to make sense of the tragedy and the ramifications of what the 9.8 quake revealed.

Dan

Greener Bangalore said...

WOWWOW!!!

Dani said...

Dan, I must say your writing always takes on such a factual taste. I'm sure it is reflections of many years of experience and contemplation. You never cease to amaze.

Dan Felstead said...

Dani,thanks but it is nothing more than a love for science fiction that just comes out now and then!

Dan

I.N.Kwell said...

Together they wedged it deep inside the urn. No one else would dare go digging in those ashes. The church had forbiden their research, deeming it "unholy" and "the devil's arithmetic". They believed god had given them their powers of mind for a reason.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor behind them, "Hurry!" hissed the one holding the urn. The other finally pulled out his hands and wiped off the ashes, "Relax, they won't dare touch it. Even if they do, they'll never be able to read it."
"Read what?" came a voice from the doorway. The owner of the footsteps also owned the voice.
"Just my sister's diary." The first grinned. "Her handwritting's impossible."
"This is true." The interloper replied, "Its also true that it is very late, and you'll want to wake early for church tomorrow."
The coconspiriters glanced at each other and spoke in unison, "Yes, Father."

Kate said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Kate said...

Joy and Evan were in that garden again, piling mounds of dirt high and jamming their index fingers into the middle of them so that they could drop seeds into new homes. Joy's stubby fingers made quick work of the mounds, while Evan kept getting distracted by worms and bugs.

“Mr. Evan,” Joy said precociously, “What do you think of our garden? I think it’s coming along wonderfully.”

Evan crinkled his brow and wiped his face, clearly in an attempt to clean it, but instead he left a huge smudge of mud across his rosy cheek. “Joy, the garden is fine. Can you please leave me alone? I am working on my dirt piles.”

Joy stood up, stomped a few yards over to where Evan was planted in the middle of the garden, crouched down, and smooshed his cheeks with her tiny fingers. “You don’t have to be so mean about it. I didn’t ask you to play every day. If you don’t want to work on the garden, go home.”

Evan pushed Joy’s dirty hands off of his face, stood up in defiance, and said, “Fine. I will!” He brushed the dirt off of his wrinkled khakis and walked over to the bench where he had left his things. He pulled his sweater on over top of his crinkled uniform shirt, and struggled to get his knapsack onto his back. He stood there for a moment, planning his exit from the garden. He knew he’d have to walk back past Joy to get to the door, but he wanted to be as invisible as possible. He decidedly walked in her direction with his head turned unnaturally away from her. After 10 yards or so, he clumsily tripped over a root that protruded from the earth. He lay in the dirt at the base of the tree, disoriented for a moment.

Joy ran over, and trying to sound unconcerned said, “Are you going to be alright, or can I go back to working now?”

Evan sputtered, “I’ll be fine” despite feeling like his palms and knees might burn off of his body. He reached his left arm out in front of him and felt the ground, blindly searching for his glasses. He felt a cool metal rod lodged under the root that was before him. He yanked on the rod, propped himself up so that he was now sitting with his legs crossed, found his glasses, and saw that the rod was in fact a large intricate iron key.

Forgetting all about his spat with Joy, he ran over to her excitedly. “Joy! Look what I found! What do you think it opens?”

Joy looked at it thoughtfully and gracefully felt its edges. After a moment, she said, “I’m sure I don’t know! Maybe tomorrow we can try some locks with it.” Joy glanced over the garden walls at the clock tower that rose over them in the Town Square and saw that it was almost 5:30. “Evan,” she exclaimed, “we have to get going home, or we’ll miss supper!”

Evan looked distraught, “Well, what should we do about this key? We can’t take it home, can we? What if it opens a forbidden door somewhere? Mom and Dad wouldn’t want us to have it. They might take it away!”

Joy pondered this for a moment, evaluating the truth of Evan’s concern, and said, “I know, we’ll hide it away in that vase.” She pointed at the old urn that rested in the wall of the garden. Evan smiled, approving of the plan. They walked to the edge of the garden; Evan stood on his tip toes, slid the urn off of the ledge, and together they placed their new treasure in the urn. He carefully lifted the urn back into place as Joy pulled her stockings back up to her knees and tried to wipe the dirt off of her skirt and legs.

They grabbed the rest of their things, ran around the block to their homes, ate a hot dinner, and went to bed. That night, Joy dreamt of opening doors to churches and castles and finding jewels and horses and musical instruments, and Evan dreamt of doors that led to kingdoms with knights in armor who wielded swords and courageously defeated their enemies.

Dan Felstead said...

I swear...there are beginnings of novels here today! I find myself just wanting to read more of each post. Thank you for putting so much effort into a simple Urn placed for all to see...so long ago.

Dan

Inkpot said...

i love the picture, Dan. Really beautiful. :)

The burial of Terran
When the earth god Terran died, his children, Aqua and Gia, took his body and buried it in a great pit. They called on the dragons that lived in the centre of the earth and asked them to breathe their fire onto Terran, as a last act of respect. Then they visited the giants in the mountains that people call the spine of the world, and they asked the giants to carry enormous slabs of granite and basalt to Terran’s pit. When the stones had been laid over the tomb, trapping the heat of the dragons’ breath inside, Aqua and Gia waited. While they waited they sang, and their songs brought life out of the ground and their tears nourished the soil. When enough time had passed and the stones over their father’s grave had grown cool to the touch, the two faithful daughters removed them and dug into the dirt. Terran’s body was no more. It had transformed, with the heat and the pressure, into a luminous diamond. Aqua and Gia lifted the diamond from its resting place and brushed the black graphite from it with great care. Then, carrying it together, they went to the urn in their mother’s garden and placed the diamond inside. Safely ensconced in earth once more, the diamond started to glow with a golden light that shone through the sides of the urn and illuminated the garden. When their mother saw what they had done, she hugged her daughters. She stood in the soft light, her face transfixed with love.
‘Your father is with us again,’ she said.

Sacha van Straten said...

Being a poet rather than a prosaic sort I just wanted to say how much I've enjoyed reading everybody's wonderful stories today.

Thanks also to Dan, as always, for providing us with such remarkable imagery as a starting point for inspiration.

Regards,

Sacha