Macro and motion


With a rainy day at hand, I went fot garden shot.  The corn two days ago had beautiful little balls of water at the top.  Today its gone, but cascade of water drips from where leaves come off stalk.left between bottom most leaves. 

But in a more interesting motion shot the humble ceiling fan..


The light pattern was so interesting.

Golden Hourhand

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Golden Hour.”


Ok I’m picking Noon. Simply because a great number of people tell me, its 12PM.. Anyone wishing to engage in how “Post Meridian” becomes at the Median feel free. But unlike a broke clock, you won’t be right twice a day. Because Ante Meridan doesn’t work with Midnight either (12AM). But that being said, the world is alive. Things are moving, even bad days it’s light out.

Now I would include sunset times, but they move like a clock changing times not wanting to stay at any particular time. Sunrise times are also nice, but I associate them to work. Mood killer!

So here’s to slightly overexposed pictures, deep contrasts, and lively scenes. No, actually I prefer a dessert.


Started as a Literary Lion AM posting with photo and catch me if youcan line.   See site below for details

Posted as part of Dark Side Thursday


Escape! But from what?  There are few things more upsetting then waking in a cage.  Waking up in a cage six feet off the ground.  Waking up in cage suspended from the ceiling.  Waking up in a cage with your back against a door on the bottom of the cage.  An alligator in the room six feet below you loose in the same room.  A very narrow window and a thin door way too close to an alligator.  Just a few more upsetting things then the cage.

Seneca desperately retraces her steps.  There was a casino.  There were a couple extra drinks.  There were offers of jungle adventures deep in the island.  But there was no end to the night.  No leaving the casino.  No ride to anywhere.  A mishmash of games and people.  Drinks, oh there were too many of those.  Her vision was still a little burry.  Her back was sore from iron pressed against her.  

The room surrounding her is large blocks, grey, black, and off white blocks create a not quite square maybe ten feet across.  No sounds come from outside.  None come from the inside either.  Her cage mate doesn’t move, only stares, at her.  Above her another four feet of chain, suspending her from the ground.

“Is the alligator worse then the person who put me here?  It’s not fair, a gator and a cage.  I bet could climb the rough wall.  The gaps in stone…feet on edges.  The door doesn’t have a lock on this side.  Maybe they left it open… Yeah, big sign. Beware of alligator…. Uuugggghhhhh!”

The cage door opens outward. Or in this case toward the floor. Getting out means danglingto the floor. And pulling herself back in if her room mate moves.

“No more drinking alone. I’ve got to try. Oh shit. ..’there is no try’. Why does this come to mind? That thing hasn’t moved yet. It’s time to go.”

The three by four foot cage is cramped, but the door makes up almost had to bottom. After several tried of shifting weight side to side, sliding the catch is possible. Planning how to open a cage is never done ahead of time. Looking for roommate. He’s further away then the door. She’s ready to leave the hot perch.

The catch slides with a terrible grinding noise. The door clangs as it swings on it’s hinges. There was no surprise possible now. . There’s not really any place to stay in cage. Expect for hanging feet through the door.

“At which point do you move? When I run or jump down?”

The alligator didn’t answer. He just sits there staring. Like he was stuffed, just sits there.

Faith and Seneca take a slow leap. Using her hands.. lowering herself in as small movements as possible. Pain staking slow movement. .. arms and hands pulled and twisting against metal webbing of the cage. The last foot is drop to the ground.

Back on earth, she regards her roommate. He’s not moving. Her heart is two beats from exploding. Her breath is halted by the horrible smell. It’s death, it’s musty, it’s putrid. She wants to choke but can’t. Fear of the beast grips her. Door is six of the longest feet she will ever walk toward the alligator.

The first step is agonizing. Watching for movement. Any kind of movement. None. Step two, with a pause. Checking always checking for slightest motion. Step three is closer to the door then cage. There’s a pause, a long pause here. Two steps to the door, but when she got there her back woukd have to turn. The next two steps are way too fast. The door! There’s a simple push lever to freedom. Looking back the gator hasn’t moved. He sits there smiling at her from this angle.

The door clunk as the lever is pushed.
The bright light rushes in, blinding and overwhelming. The humidity and tropical heat suck the energy that’s left. But there is still an alligator behind her. Stepping into the light, pulling the door hard behind her. She’s in a half cleared sugar cane field. Palm trees in the distance and a sight smell of the sea.

Finish it #20


Finally! Boarding time! She made her way to her seat and stowed her carry on away. As much as she loved traveling she was not keen on this 12 hour flight. She sat down and fastened her seat belt, wondering who would sit next to her. After a quick look out the tiny window she started scanning the other passengers entering the plane, wondering who would eventually sit down next to her. She glanced out the window again and observed the busy world out there. Then someone sat down next to her.

It was a surprise.   Not an oversized guy, with two duffle bags to squeeze under a seat.  Not the person wearing the same clothes for three days.   A real life normal person.  Thank god.  The trip to paradise is best after good flight.

The sixty year old gentleman quickly sat down.  He settled in.  They exchanged pleasantries.  He sat back and waited.  Very relaxed, quiet, not stealing the arm rests, just sat there.

Lillian was feeling a little bit strange.  All she wanted was a quiet person.  She got a zombie instead.  Her mind starts spinning “Maybe once they take off, he’ll change.  Yeah, nervous flier.  Mr Quiet was getting to her.  It’ll be a long twelve hours unless the movie is good.”

Mr Quiet stays statue still during takeoff.  He even pays attention to the safety instructions from the crew.  They climb higher and higher.  Mr Quiet is just sitting there.  He is plenty aware of the lady next to him.  Her looking out the window and turning back to him is getting old.  

Without warning Mr Quiet speaks, “so is this you first flight? You’re awful nervous”

Lillian is stunned. Her mind starts How can this be? He’s talking and I’m the nervous one.  Her mouth is failing her.   Finally, she makes a noise. “No, I’m not nervous.  You’re the most quiet person I ever saw.  At first,I expected a horrible flight.  I was happy not to hear someone’s troubles for hours on end.  Now, I’m the crazy person aren’t I?”

He smiles and says, “I’m going to snorkel in the ocean.  First time to Hawaii.  It’ll be my last.  I was glad you were quiet too.  Traveling makes everyone crazy.  You were going to tell me your problems for the rest of the trip now, aren’t you?”

Doru Gheorgi – Friday Fictioneers


“It should be obvious.  You see we had a problem. Customers were disappearing.  In the old country, people show their eyes.  Here its all sunglasses and don’t look in the eyes of others.   I’m telling you they are here. ..  we are surrounded by them.” Doru Gheorgi explained gesturing every word. His coal black eyes deeply probing his inquisitor.

Doru’s slender build and slightly salt and pepper hair make him look the survivor he is. He holds his ground without further words. His face screams disbelief.

“You understand this real problem. You’ll be one with blood on your hands…. but don’t think it’ll be mine!” Doru is defiant.

“Sir, you can’t hang garlic from the sign. The Trax people won’t let you. If you don’t take it down, we will.” Patrolman Stevenson turns to leave.

“Vampires will feast on you and yours.”

Witch Hazel

“She was buried in back.  That tree blooms in February. Over her grave….they say February 29 was her birthday.  That’s when it blooms”. Gramps Jack looks at his grandsons.  “If you sneak out, you better have a flashlight.  You kids know we don’t hear well.  I’ve seen her all in white, glowing like a lightbulb.”

Fred and Hugh are fixed on the right tombstone.  They are half scared and knowing the other is more scared.

  “Fred, she’s gonna get you.  I know they go after scared little boys.”  Hugh looks at his twin.
“She knows you would pee your pants first.  You should have brought the dog. They can sense ghosts.  Gramps, I don’t think you have to worry about him sneaking out.”

“Boys. You got a week.  Granny will have my butt in a wringer, if she hears any of you boys telling ghost stories.  She says you won’t sleep.  Eight year olds are easily scared.  Little stone ain’t gonna scare my boys is it?  Just a witch, well dead witch.  Leave her alone… And she’ll leave you be.”

“Gramps, what did she die of?  Well, some little boys messed with her.  They were never found again.  Townsfolk buried her alive.  The stone was to hold her down.  She kept digging her way out.  So they throw a stone on her.”

The boys were ready to leave.  They weren’t looking at who was more scared any more.  They all walked back to the farm house about 500 feet away.  The boys are still quite.  Gramps is laughing to himself.

“So where did my boys run off to?”  Granny smiles as apple pie smell drifts outside.  “Gramps, you tell the boys not to wander at night?”

“Granny no one is going anywhere tonight.” Winking as they go inside.

Y’all ain’t from around ere?


US221 winds it’s way through the hills of North Carolina.  A wood sign nailed to telephone pole reads “real mountain jely  honey right from the bee”.  The bright yellow and hand painted display couldn’t be more obvious.

Until you clear the next bend. .. a giant red barn, each crossbeam painted white. It could actually glow. In front of its open barn door, every whirl-i-gig design from lumberjack sawing log to donkey kicking farmer in butt. Fish kites swim in the breezes. The word s Jam and Jelly line the street advertising fruit flavors.

Jessica tells Randy “oh look at that. We need to stop there.”

Randy groans a “ah uh” . He knows the drill. “Oh wait! For 50 cents, I can be first in the family to see Tennessee. They have a fire tower!” Sarcasm fills the car.

Meeting them at the car. In coveralls with no t-shirt and straw hat, the name tag says Bill Bob. “Y’all need any thing, just haller Bill Bob” old guy laughs and moves on.

With an outhouse birdhouse and beer can wind chime in hand, Jessica goes to check out.

Bill Bob rings her up. His accent is gone. More Jersey now.

Randy looks at him smiling says “Y’all ain’t from around ere, now is ya?”

“Tourists love it”

Today’s a Gift

There’s a cane house over looking the blue green Caribbean.  In the distant past, raw sugar cane sat waiting to be processed.  Today, there’s something else waiting.  No sugary sweet smells.  Just the stench of what was.

The tourists walk by, stop and take selfie.  But the cobblestone building doesn’t invite you inside.  Seneca wasn’t asked, she just ended up here.  Not a holiday trip of a lifetime.

The sugar sand beach stretches a couple hundred yards to reach the water. Behind lies a parched cluster of palms. They are a little more worse for wear. Behind-the-scenes guys weave fish, flowers, and hats from their leaves. This is the trail grin which she came.

Seneca wakes up in what seems like an oven. Hot stale air burns lungs and the smell of rotten food and urine assault her nose. Battered, more than a little bruised. The question we ask too much in life appears on her lips.

” How did I get here?”