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What to my wondering eyes appeared as I looked for a loaf of bread ...BIMBO bread. A photo op if I ever had one. I knew if only to remember the name of the bread to tell of my "find" Of course the first person I told already knew it existed. Sigh. I read the description of the prompt, "simple" as also to mean "mundane" and then I knew I have a treasure trove of the mundane. Halleluiah. I have been saved by the mundane and wonderful photos I love to take !
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Thank you Anne Dimeyer at Pret a Voyager.com for the prompt.
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for Mimulux. Visual Prompt 3 -- Dark Wizard by Axel Torvenius (http://www.torvenius.com/master.php)
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High on a mountain top
the full moon
behind you
I saw you,
the wind
blowing
swiftly,
your stance
firm as if on solid
ground.
.
Your dark garb swirled,
you stared,
your gaze
never swerved.
Mesmerized,
I stared back.
Drawn to your
eyes,
wondering
what
drew
me
to you,
unable
to divert
my eyes.
.
Your dark garb swirled,
you stared,
your gaze
never swerved.
Mesmerized,
I stared back.
Drawn to your
eyes,
wondering
what
drew
me
to you,
unable to divert
my eyes.
.
High on a mountain peak,
wind from the north,
never a shiver did I see
as you stood there
unrelenting,
gazing.
Gazing.
.
And
then you were
gone.
.
Where.
.
Gone.
.
Not from my memory.
On firm ground,
in my thoughts
your vision
that remained.
.
Wondering.
.
Who.
What.
Why.
Where.
.
I saw you,
the wind
blowing
swiftly,
your stance
firm as if on solid
ground.
I’ll look for you,
in your dark garb,
gaze unswerving.
When will
I see you…
High on a mountain top.
.
.
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As the Great War drew to a close, a young Englishwoman wrote wearily in her diary,
By the end of 1916, every boy I had ever danced with was dead
The instruction: respond to that sentence!
.
.
I wondered why my great aunts
never married. No children of their own.
No fancy wedding days
or honeymoons.
.
They were quiet and somber ladies:
not quick to smile or joke.
Kind of heart and sole,
but not jolly like others their age.
.
There came a day,
when I was older, married,
with a child of my own,
I was able to talk to the oldest.
.
She was reminiscing,
of being a young girl in 1900.
Coming across the pond to live,
just in time to start first grade.
.
Times were carefree when she
came to live in a small midwest town.
School was fun and times were
good to be a child in America.
.
Then came the war,
the men responded and went off
to defend the country
the sisters had come to love.
.
Then she recalled,
how their world changed;
“By the end of 1916 every boy
I’d ever danced with was dead.”
.
She talked of the loneliness,
of the love taken from her..,
tall, handsome, boy, promising future…
and he swore he’d return.
.
There would never be another,
whom she could love like
the boy who went off to war,
died a man, far, far, away.
.
And there never was another
to steal her heart, to laugh,
and cry and spend time gayly
twirling on the dance floor.
.
Joy never returned,
her heart and soul were heavy,
thinking of those who never
returned to dance or love.
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siggiofmaine 