Y'know, if you ever wanted to make a prompt for a future Thursday, I'd love to see what you'd create in this approximate style to inspire us.
There are no rules on what you should do with these words and images, remember that. If they prompt you to write about a pencil falling in love with a piece of paper, if you never use the word concussion, sea, or coffee, you met the writing challenge anywho, cause here you came and here you wrote.
So you do you, I'll do me, and hopefully you're as regularly surprised by what you write as I am.
I hope you're faring well and that when you're not, you find a way back.
Seems Bees Bring Out Our Inner Children's Stories…
Some weeks there are themes, some weeks not so much. With last week's take courage, many of us were inspired by the bees. I do wonder if we'll all see something similar in this week's prompt. After you?
“Of course you are. I wasn’t going to let just anybody take in my only granddaughter. We are family and we are going to stick together.” Ell’a smiled down at Kelar’s little face. “We’ll be there before you know it. It’s just a quick jump from here to there. My little ship – ‘Honey Bug’ – will get us home before dinner time.” Kelar brightened at the mention of the ship. “Grandma? You can fly?”
I drop down next to my folks and look around. “Why the hell is Howard here?”
Emory scoffs. “He’s my cousin, what do you want me to say?”
“He’s a fucking wasp!”
“Yeah, well, he’s adopted.”
Howard’s focus is elsewhere, though. “There she is!” He takes off.
No need for the Goodbye dance now, no. Today we dance a greeting, and rise up in a cloud as we see him arrive through the garden gate. His Other rises with us, and walks, then runs (unbalanced still, his hind limbs stiff with age and with sitting) to his Keeper. Like bee to pollen, like flower to sun, like the colony to the hive he goes, they go, and embrace, and we dance, we dance, for our Hive is whole again.
“Forget the neighbours, babe, I’m gonna need you to be brave for a minute.”
“Why?! What the hell are you planning to do.”
“Don’t freak out…” Matt said with an unreassuring pause. “but there’s some bees on you.”
“How many is SOME?!” Declan asked, immediately turning to look and unbalancing them both into the flowerbed.
I’d whisper “Sorry sweetie,” if I slipped and nicked a tiny limb, or murmur “Hold still baby,” while seating a glass wing and you know what? I think that’s what did it. I think our souls wake when someone comes close and soft-breathes kindness into our ear. Awareness where there was none is the product of endearments and love. Maybe soft breezes sending the scent of the rosemary, too.
Okay, your turn…what do you see in the burning sea?