masked moonlight wakes me pulling dreams backward, inward pulling body forward, outward five steps and I’m outside bare feet on weathered wood yes, moon, what do you want watch me descend, it says casting legato light across waves as sapient stars nod, blinking in agreement what else can I do but listen
opalescent ocean dances below sings softly of forgetting or is it forgiving maybe it wants me to bleed shedding mawkish memories dance, move, swing your arms let go, it calls can it be so simple
silver moon transforms briefly mimics sunlight before sinking below the waves below the horizon below my pained core with a final golden gasp it calls out to me yes, I hear you
folding, folding I tuck the words inside— my moonset gift swaying, swaying I rock with the waves under billowy blankets until morning comes
Note: Both of these photos are of the moon setting at around 1 a.m. If you look closely in the second one you might see stars.
“People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.”—Neil Gaiman
This week’s assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to take an analog photograph. You could either use a film camera or you could edit your photos to look as if you did. Not wanting to worry about finding film and having it developed, I opted for the editing option.
These photos are special to me because they were taken during a writing retreat in Tahoe last weekend. It was three days of deep connection, fireside chats, and being seen. I’m grateful for my writing community and for the power of vulnerability.
“Fire spirit, fire sprite Share with us your golden light Come for us our candle light!” —Waldorf verse
This week’s assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to photograph something at night. As the days get darker faster, I find myself burning more candles. I wanted my photos to capture the warmth and comfort of flickering candlelight.
“This little light of mine I’m gonna let it shine”
My lovely daughter agreed to be my model and we ended up with these Victorian-inspired photos. I think they capture a bit of the danger of the darkness too and I’m in love with them. Please let me know if you have a favorite and have a wonderful week.
If I do my job right nobody can tell. Get in. Clean up. Get out. Nobody builds statues honoring my work or carries my symbol around their neck, but it is important. I’m important. The universe needs me.
I tap the tiny brush over the red and blue spots left behind by another sloppy job and remind myself their anger is at themselves and not me. Still, Terrence didn’t have to yell in my face. It’s always urgent. It’s always now. It’s always dire.
“You don’t understand,” he screams. “This can’t be seen! You have to do it now. Right now!”
His breath smells of sour milk and his pupils shrink until they are black pinpoints in a sea of cloudy grey. His lips are two rotted plums. They are all children who break their toys and stomp their feet in disappointment. I make it so they don’t have to face the consequences.
“I’ll take care of it,” I sigh climbing out of bed.
He shows me where to go and slinks away without a “thank you” or a “we couldn’t do it without you.” Most likely he’s drinking it off now with the others and laughing at what he did. He won’t think of me or my work again until his next mistake. His next “right now.”
Their urgency and terror used to excite me. I considered it a thrill to glimpse behind their imposing masks—an honor to be trusted with fear. I’d catch their falling bomb of worry into my hands and watch them transform back into their confident boastful selves. It felt like magic.
Now, I see it differently. They trust me, yes. They never ask if the job is too big or check my work because they don’t see me as equal. It’s the chaos they love not the order. I’m not a trusted friend. I’m the clean-up crew.
I wonder what it would be like to be them? Running through time and space they combine stars, explode worlds, create, destroy, and transform matter with their ever-changing whims. Galaxies rise and fall at their fingertips yet they can’t do what I do. Nobody else can.
Tap. Tap. Tap. I brush away particles of space dust until mistakes become nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. What they don’t realize is nothing, my nothing, is growing larger and larger. The darkness spreads with each mistake they make and can grow faster if I want it to. I don’t have to be careful.
My love for them has held me back, but I’m growing tired. Each harsh word. Each unkind look. Each time they ignore me, it’s getting harder and harder to restrain myself. What happens when I can’t take it anymore? What happens when I stop caring? I will erase them all.
“I can bench press steam, but not fog. I just have to wait until the fog lifts itself.” —Jarod Kintz
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to photograph fog or steam. It’s almost the end of the week and the only morning we had fog I was in the emergency room with my son (he’s fine). Sigh.
Last night, however, I went for a drive near our local casino and noticed a factory spewing steam into the air. I ran home and got my camera and these photos are the result. These are technically not great but I like them. There’s something in the imperfect almost abstract way they came together which speaks to where I am right now.
I hope you enjoy them and if you have a favorite I’d love to know. Have a wonderful weekend.
open and shut them a game with toddlers to still their hands to make them giggle I play it in my head to still my fears open and shut them ambulance out the window stretcher in the hall two paramedics in blue electrodes on his chest it’s not like last time give a little clap, clap, clap take me back to stillness no ripples spreading out just flat glassy ease a breath and a sigh open and shut them pajama pants, slip-on shoes home before sunrise coffee while he sleeps hugs when he wakes put them in your lap, lap, lap
“Way out in the country tonight he could smell the pumpkins ripening toward the knife and the triangle eye and the singeing candle.”—Ray Bradbury
October was a blur of busyness and I’m behind in everything—laundry, dishes, yard work, and blogging. Life is like that sometimes.
My month included poetry night. Housesitting. A music festival. Helping my sister-in-law after emergency surgery. Becoming a godmother. Dungeons & Dragons. Five pumpkin patches with my nephew. Halloween traditions. Movies. Haunted houses. Lots of treats.
My photo assignment, which I’m posting four days late, was to capture the fall season. I took these photos at our annual family outing to Rickey Ranch last week. Not my best work, but who doesn’t love cute animals and a beautiful sky.
To everyone starting NaNoWriMo—happy writing! I’m not participating this year but I’ll root you on. Bring on November!
Kat sees the button first. A bright green light tucked into the corner of the wall. It pulses and calls to her. It knows her name.
“Do you know what day it is?”
The voice speaking loudly beside her ear is all blue and has no face. Only eyes. Where is the green? What day is it? It’s not her birthday. At least she thinks it’s not. The voice keeps speaking and moves now to her other side. She can see the button again. It glows brighter and Kat wants to press it. Instead, burning heat presses into her. It travels from her scalp to her toes. It quiets everything.
Time moves. Kat can feel minutes turn into hours. Days, she thinks. A small window to her right remains closed and covered with thick slatted blinds. A parade of blue figures touches her. Pushes things into her. She points at the green button over and over. Nobody answers her soundless question.
“Did you know Tutankhamun died 1,000 years after the great pyramids were built?”
A voice comes from across the room and Kat sees a figure leaning against the wall beside the green button. Clad in blue, his face isn’t covered. He’s got deep brown eyes with thick lashes, a large sloped nose, thin dark lips, and a small trimmed beard flecked with grey. He says his name is Ebi and Kat smells rain and wet earth when she looks at him. She hears hooves kicking sand.
“The Great Pyramid is made up of over 2.3 million stones, weighing 2.5 tons.”
Kat closes her eyes. Two million. Two tons. The majority of the universe is made of dark matter. It’s made of nothing. She opens her eyes and the green button is still there. Ebi is still there. A question vibrates inside her gut and bubbles and bubbles until the words form and come out as a whisper she isn’t sure carries sound.
“What happens if you press the green button?”
Ebi hears from across the room and smiles.
“It releases air in the isolation room, but don’t press it Kat…it will start things over.”
He winks at her. The number of trees worldwide is greater than the stars in our solar system. She once walked in an old-growth forest and felt the trees leaning forward as if wanting to speak to her. She’s not the center. Everything is connected. Don’t press the button. Press the button.
“The Great Pyramid was the tallest building in the world for 3,500 years.”
Ebi’s eyes are still far away but she can see the reflection of a round clock in the black pupils. The second-hand moves too fast. Dangerously fast. Kat tries to match the rhythm by patting the thin mattress with her hands. Sound can create patterns in sand. It can break things apart. A storm bangs against the shuttered window. Knocks loudly. Is Kat making the storm?
“The pyramids originally had a bright white smooth stone casing which sparkled in the sun.”
Ebi holds a thick book in his hands. Hands covered in thin white scars, and slash marks, like etchings on stone walls. Kat pictures those hands knowing true north and finding what is missing. The book opens and closes. Quiet and heat come again and the smell of rain is replaced with metal.
Kat wakes to find the room empty except for the green light. It calls to her. It knows her name. She can’t ignore it any longer and pulls tubes from her arms and a mask from her face. Her feet find the cold floor.
Stumbling and breathing heavily, she crosses the room in two steps. Or is it two plus two steps? She reaches out her fingers and presses the smooth, round surface of the button. Relief comes as darkness. Her body falls onto the hard floor and her head makes a terrible cracking sound. The air smells of nothing at all.
Kat rolls onto her side and presses her cheek into the warm sand. Voices call around her in celebration. Drums pound out a rhythmic beat like raindrops. Hands hook under her armpits and lift her onto a pair of broad shoulders.
“Stay close Kat,” her father says.“There are many here today to see the Pharaoh off and I don’t want to lose you.”
They stand at the base of a giant pyramid gleaming white with a bright gold top. Voices sing around her. Starting over is scary. Kat grabs the small green stone hanging from a gold chain around her neck and presses it tightly.
Author’s note: I spent a few days this week in the hospital beside my sister-in-law. She’s okay and home now, but I was inspired to write this story by a brief conversation with a nurse about Eygpt.
“Every man’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”—Ernest Hemingway
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was details. We were asked to take two photos of each subject—near and far. The idea is to show the context of the details.
As October is a time many honor those who have passed, I decided to visit the Sacramento Historic City Cemetery this morning for this assignment. Let me know which pair of images you like best and have a wonderful week.
Bridgette Tales 