For the Boy

Will you take the whisper
I put upon your ear
And carry it forever
As something that was dear

Or will you disregard it
And forget the love it meant
Then wonder someday later
Where all the memories went

Grains of Sand

So this week, we want you to write about sand.


"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives"

This is the opening line of a soap opera I've never watched. But I love the line.  

I was enchanted with hourglasses when I was young. Watching the sand gently flow from top to bottom. It seemed to take a long time to build below. The grains bouncing on the empty glass.  Yet, as more sand flowed, the faster the top emptied.  A hill mounding, the grains of sand rolling down the sides.  Then suddenly, the last grain falls. Time has run out. 

Life is much like that. The first years, baby steps and potty training and losing baby teeth, barely cover the bottom. The memories bouncing about like a toddler's attention. 

Moving into teens and young adulthood, a hill begins to form. A woman begins grow.   Making choices, climbing uphill, sliding down. Climbing again. 

As the years pass, the sands flow quickly. I've reached that place where the bottom of the hourglass holds more than the top. The sand slipping away at an alarming pace.  I wouldn't want to return to the beginning, but if I could just turn the glass now, gain a little more sand.  A little more life. I still have so much to do. 

What will be left when the last grain falls?  A legacy of accomplishments? Or just a pile of sand?  

No Special Path

The prompt:Aaah...jealousy. We all have it. We all feel it.

And now we'd like you to write about it. We'll leave it open: you can write about something or someone you envy, or a time when your jealousy got you in trouble, or maybe how it makes you feel to be envious. Whatever you want.

And it can be fiction or non-fiction. Word limit is 600.



Mommy had given him hugs and told him he was special. She'd tucked him in tight and kissed him good night.

Then she left to find Barry and bring him home. Because, Barry really was special. Barry could hear Mommy when she was away. Barry could make the air move like Mommy did. Barry was special, like Mommy.

Darren couldn't do those things. He was just Darren, not special. So, Mommy put him to bed and went to find Barry.

Darren crawled out of bed and went to Barry's room. Mommy had given Barry some pinwheels to practice making the air move them. Darren stared at them, waved his arms like he'd seen his brother do. Nothing happened, they didn't even wiggle. He wasn't special at all.

He'd make them move anyway!  Swinging his arms wildly, he knocked them all to the floor. Then kicked them, making some of them come apart.

"Darren? Are you in bed?" He heard Daddy coming to the stairs. He shoved the broken toys under Barry's bed and scurried back to his room.

He was under the covers when Daddy checked on him, "Hey, buddy, you ok?," Daddy ruffled his his hair.  "It's not your fault Darren."

"I know Daddy. Is Mommy home yet?"

"No, buddy, she'll be back when she finds your brother"

"What if she can't find him, Daddy?"

Daddy gave him a hug and kissed the top of his head, "she'll find him," Daddy tucked the covers back around him. As he was leaving, Darren heard him whisper, "She has to."

Darren's tears fell quietly on his pillow. Because Daddy thought Barry was more special, too.



This is after Beth/Lyabet leaves to reclaim her youngest son. You can read about that here: http://elsetimeandotherwhen.blogspot.com/2011/04/another-path.html

Alone

This week's RemembeRED prompt was to write about a time something seemingly terrible happened, but looking back, it brought something wonderful.



"We're pregnant," she whispered. It was only three weeks and she didn't want to spread the news yet. But she was so excited, they were ready to add to their family. 

I smiled with her, asked all the appropriate questions, answered a few she had for me. 

Yet, I could feel little excitement. What felt was loss. My daughter had made that final step away from me. 
No more spontaneous lunches. No more just dropping by randomly. 

I was not ready to be a Grandmother. I wasn't old enough. I had little patience for babies and young children. It's the way I was made. 

As my daughter grew, we had become friends. Now, my friend wouldn't have time for me anymore. 

As she made plans and picked names and furniture and baby clothes, I kept my sadness hidden. 

Delivery came, I was proud of her. She did well. She had a healthy baby boy. 

Time passed, I saw little of her for several weeks. She called for advice now and then. She called to cry her frustrations. 

Then, she needed a babysitter. And I got to spend my first alone time with the baby. The first of many times. 

Now, I have a two year old grandson. A bundle of hugs and energy. Gramma's boy. And he is all boy. Trucks and fire engines. Running and giggling. 

There is a granddaughter now as well. It took some time for me to see the gifts I was receiving. I have two new little people to fill my life.  

And I still have my daughter, my friend. 

In Care of the Grim Reaper

The prompt: "write a formal complaint letter to your deepest, darkest fear."



Dear Death,

You don't know me. You never will. I'm an Elemental you see.  Immortal.

I know you have issues with my kind. You feel cheated.  I understand, I think. You have a job to do, and my kind don't contribute to your cause.

Nevertheless, I'm writing to ask a favor of you.

I have chosen to take a human husband. I know you will come for him one day. I have accepted that.

However, we have had two children. Beautiful babies of mixed heritage. They are growing up so quickly. I cherish each new milestone. Yet, I tremble at every new step.

Because they are half mortal, half human.  I fear you will try to take them one day.

You will come to call them away from me. It makes no difference how "old" they will be.  They will still be my babies.

However, they are also half immortal. I believe that should be enough to remove them from whatever list it is you keep.

If you do come for them, be aware, I will be there. I will fight you with every ounce of my energy. As an Element of Air, that energy is rather formidable.
  
It would be much better for both of us if you simply bypass my children.

                              Sincerely,
                              Lyabet/Beth
                         AirElemental/Mother

Hummingbird

“Give me a memory of the color red. Do not write the word 'red' but use words that engender the color red when you hear them. For example: a ruby, a tomato, fire, blood.




Iridescent in the sunlight. Zipping about on emerald wings. 
Flashing a throat patch of ruby sequins.
When he hovered in shadows, his patch sparkled still, so dark it was almost black.  Like patent leather, the lack of direct light not hampering his glow.
Then a stray sunbeam would strike him, igniting his candy apple calling card.

Drought

The Prompt: "This week, we're giving you a photo to take you back in time."

It's late June.  The spring rains have come and gone. The heat and humidity feel more like late July. The yard is scarred with cracked earth.

The flowers and vegetables, planted with hopes of summer color and fall bounty, are withering. The new fruit trees are trying desperately to force young roots deep enough to find water.

Every day, in the late afternoon, he pulls the hose behind him. He goes from garden to garden, sapling to sapling, soaking the soil.   Leaves that have sagged under the midday sun begin to rise with tentative hope.

He waters the new grass, but most of the precious liquid runs into deep fissures, never touching the young roots.  The only thing that keeps this spot green are old, established shade trees.

As the sun lowers in the sky I join him. We walk each garden together, assessing each plant.  We wish it would rain. We wish the stifling heat would ease. We wish for winter.