Wednesday Writing Prompt.

In honor of the summer solstice…

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Image found via Pinterest.

She floats in the space where the water merges with the sky,

the horizon almost invisible, the sky becoming water, the water becoming sky.

The water cradles her, the sky supports her.

The water ripples below, the clouds undulate above.

Timeless.

Effortless.

Suspended between who she is in this moment and who she will in the next,

perfectly content to just be here,

in this moment,

her breath echoing beneath the water,

an ancient hum reverberating through her bones,

her shadow another presence beneath her,

reminding her of the dark that always exists

even under the brightest of suns.

Wednesday Writing Prompt.

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Artwork by (my awesome brother-in-law) Brian Buss.

 

Peeling the curtain back takes courage. From black and white to vibrant color. From comfort to the new and absurd. Allowing all those voices to be heard. Standing guard over your ego, loitering around the coffee cooler of your heart, discussing all the ways you have failed, all the things you dream of, musing on the paths not taken or those taken and abandoned. Aiming true deep into the heart of who you truly are rather than who you pretend to be. Let the red poppies of your subconscious spill into your life, your dreams. Pulling back the bow, knuckle grazing the sharp edge of the cheekbone, gazing ahead, not back, straight into the concentric circles of your past, present and future selves, trusting it will glide with speed and depth, landing exactly where it needs to. Where it is meant to.

Wednesday Writing Prompt.

Woman falling

Image found via Pinterest.

Remember playing those trust games?

Trusting the person or group to catch you as you fell backwards? I remember trying to learn how to do a backwards dive into the pool and I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Nothing bad would happen. I’d fall in some water. That’s it. But still. I didn’t allow myself do fall backward. I didn’t trust that I’d be okay.

I love this image. Arms spread wide, blissful face, utter trust in what she is falling into. Falling toward.

We are all about to fall into a new year. How are you doing it? Eyes squeezed tight, fists clenched, not trusting what lies before you? Unwilling to let go of what lies behind you?

I want to fall into 2016 like this woman. On the edge of a huge precipice, bare feet, heart shining, soul bared—trusting, believing, welcoming exactly what waits for me.

Trusting that I’ll be carried by the winds of my own wings into the person I am meant to be.

Wednesday Writing Prompt.

glitter hands

Image found on Pinterest.

Each breath she takes from the truest space of her heart brings light. Each word she writes from the darkest space of her soul brings light. Each time she shows up to these spaces, each time she resists the resistance, more light is drawn to her—drawn into her so that she can spill it back out into the world. Light glitters behind her eyes, weaving into the spaces between her ribs, pulsing through each cell, shimmering on her skin. As she lives from her all parts of herself—the dark and light, the strong and the vulnerable, the anger and the peace, the fear and the courage—her most authentic, fierce self shines and glitters its way into the tiny crevices of the world around her.

Wednesday Writing Prompt

winter swings

Image found on alice-eve-lithium.tumblr.com

 

{Fiction}

She hadn’t been to a park since it happened. Just couldn’t bring herself to be around all those children, all the moms who don’t seem to realize how lucky they are. Lucky? Does that mean she is unlucky? Does luck have anything to do with it? It’s science. She knows that.

People don’t know what to say to her. Even her own husband has no words. She actually finds that comforting. No words are better than some of the words that have been tossed her way like tiny breadcrumbs designs dot lead her out of her grief. Words like God’s will, not meant to be, try again…

Her husband is asleep in their bed now. She envies him that space he has to retreat. She had trouble sleeping toward the end. Her belly so big, so cumbersome but secretly she loved it. She carried that huge belly proudly. They had tried long enough. She wanted to savor every second…even the crappy uncomfortable ones.

But nothing prepared her for that night. That night she just knew something was wrong. Her belly felt so still. Probably sleeping her husband said. Even the nurse tried to reassure her but then came the ultra sound. And the silence. From the machine. From the technician. From her belly.

She’d known. Even as the doctor delivered the news, part of her felt like at least she’d known, like it was some kind of badge of honor, some secret link to her baby.

Now she can’t sleep for other reasons. Her belly is soft and empty, but her mind is hard and jagged. She crawls out of bed each night, slipping gout into the night, walking the neighborhood, a few random lights still on well after midnight, the occasional car passing her, its lights streaming over her for a brief moment before leaving her in the dark again.

Tonight it has snowed. She can handle the park at night. An empty park. layered in snow is even better. The silence is profound, dense against her ears. She feels the cold seep deep into the canals of each ear, almost painful but she welcomes it. A different kind of pain. The snow crunches beneath her boots. She holds one of the chains of the swing in her bare hand, squeezing gently as the cold metal presses into her skin. She sits in the soft layer of snow on the swing and feels the cold permeate the layer of jeans she pulled on over her pajamas. She kicks her feet out in front of her, leaning back, gripping the linked chains with both hands, pumping more and more, gaining speed and height, flinging her head back, eyes wide open as the world flails around her at odd, sweeping, disorienting angles.