Paint with words

The hint of salt flavored the air while the sea lazily rolled upon the shore in casual waves.  Shadows flickered in spasms both harsh and vague upon both stucco walls and plastic furniture.

Flashed of color exploded to the sounds of music.

Booms of crimson.

Shrieks of lime.

Crashes of turquoise.

Flashes of yellow.

Deep rumblings of purple.

Colors flying and twirling in rhythms and beats that flow strong and joyous in the air.

Arms wave while legs flow.

A bonfire of humanity in celebration flares in contrast to the coolness of the night.

The breeze seductively kisses while leaves blush and yield in response.

The light and the dark; the strong and the soft; the loud and the quiet all mix together in a world you bring to life.

Feel the energy.

Taste the air.

Smell the fragrance.

Hear the rapture.

See the life in all its brightness.

This is what you bring to the world.  This is your gift when you write, blog, or speak.

Paint with words.

Text is black on white for a reason.

It is so you can paint the picture as vibrant or as dark as you want the reader to envelope.

Use your palate to its fullest.

Paint with words.

Ruins

A man stands alone in the square.  Rubble and ruins of civilization lay strewn around him.  There is no wind to cool his face; no songs from birds to fill his ears, no perfume of flowers to fill his nose.  Dust and ash, splinters and shrapnel are all that is left.

He witnessed it all.  The burning of books; the rending of art; the defiling of churches; the loss of knowledge as the world went mad.

The fire consumed everything.  Mother, daughter; Father and son.  No one was spared.

Centuries of achievements lost for eternity.  Nothing left but rubble and dust.

There are no tears, no sobs, no shouts of anger; just silence.  The man knows the depth of his crime.  The evidence lay before and surrounds him.

It wasn’t the gun in his hand, nor the bullet that fired out of its barrel that caused the world to end.

It was the hate in his heart, the narrowness of his vision, and the lack of faith in the system created by his ancestors that he let loose upon the world to cause it’s destruction.

Now he stands alone with no one to share, nor no one to grow.

Only silence and a shovel to bury the dead.

When my day turned into a country song.

All these things happened last Thursday.  The first part happened to me, the rest happened to my coworkers..

 

Stranded by the side of the road

No luck with repairs

Shut the hood, a long walk awaits

No phone service here

Pull up along side

Told him not to give up hope

It’s an easy tow into town

As I pull out a rope

Life ain’t all palm trees and sunshine

There are bumps along the way

But give a stranger a chance

Be rewarded in faith

We’re on this rock for a while

Or so the story goes

Best to take things as they come

Learn to keep what to take

And what to let go

Ground’s washed out at the river’s bank

A victim of summer’s rain

Not to worry, a little bit of work

And he’ll bring it back again

Drive the tractor up to the edge

Watch a heron fly

Hit the gas instead of the brake

Think that he’s gonna die

Life ain’t all palm trees and sunshine

There are bumps along the way

Hit reverse in a panic

Keep backing up till you feel safe

We’re on this rock for a while

Or so the story goes

Best to take things as they come

Learn to keep what to take

And what to let go

Cleaning up around the bend

Picking up debris

The boy sees large weathered log

Must’ve been a strange looking tree

Imagine his surprise

Reaching out for the branch

Came a whip from a tail

Followed by a violent splash

Life ain’t all palm trees and sunshine

There are bumps along the way

Keep focus on what you’re doing

Don’t become gator bait

We’re on this rock for a while

Or so the story goes

Best to take things as they come

Learn to keep what to take

And what to let go

The Hunt

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The soft, blue sky and sounds of chipping birds didn’t soften the concerned look on the man’s face as he peered out the window.

“They’re out there, son.”  He warned.  “They came during the night.  Pods hidden amongst the landscape.  They’re  hidden, but I know they’re  there.  I can smell them.”

His words were confirmed with tightening eyelids and a terse nod.

“It’s not like last time.”  He continued.  “Last time easy to spot.  They were bigger and ugly.  Everyone knew they were dangerous.  This time, though; this time they were smart.  The pods are small, so they’re easy to hide.  They’re brightly colored, too.  It makes them easier to find, but also lulls its victims into a sense of false security.  There’s got to be hundreds of them out there.”

The soldier steps back and racks his rifle.  “Clack-clack!”

“Don’t worry, Dad.  I got this” He says with confidence.

A brightly colored basket is lowered in between them.

“Why don’t you collect them instead of shooting them.”  The mother says to her son.”

“Aw, Mom!”  The boy protests as she disarms the young soldier.

“No, no.  She’s right!”  The father chimes.  “Gunfire will alert them to your presence.  You need to stalk them, special ops style, and bring them back to the home base for study and interrogation.  They’ll crack under the pressure!”

Mom rolls her eyes as the child bolts out the door.

Rebuilt

Useless, unwanted, thrown out.

Discarded by those that once cared for them.

Broken

Left out to rot under the elements without protection.

Wasting or waiting, not sure which

Collected up one by one

Brought to a field

Sorted and stacked

Altered, shaped, changed

Put to a different use.

Crafted, Made

Rebuilt and rebirthed.

The start of something new

Oasis

Waves of distortion hung low in the air as heat radiated up from the parched earth. A silhouette floated across as the soft crunching of footfalls broke the dead calm.  The man squinted his eyes beneath his wide brimmed hat in defense his late afternoon sun. His gaze finds the skeleton of a tree that draws him to it.

Crunch-crunch-crunch

Tucked in a bow, he finds a nest, poor and sloppily built. Inside of the nest sat three chicks, freshly molten from their baby fuzz.  Nude and hot, they look to the sky with open beaks.

The man reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle and straw. The man grimaces as he feels the weight of it.  Shaking the bottle, he heard the splash of remnants. Not much, but some. Dipping the straw into the bottle, he proceeded to quench their thirst, one by one.  Each chick was allowed three pulls all the water was gone.  The man looked up to see their mother sitting on a perch, staring down at him.  He noticed an insect caught in her beak.

Backing away, he nodded to the lady before putting away the bottle and straw. The bird flew to the nest as the man moved on.

Back in the saddle

A man lay down in a bed of earth. His body was covered in a dingy batter of dirt and sweat.  The summer heat of the sun slowly baked the batter to a dry crisp.

Away from him, a horse wandered around, rooting with its nose as it searched for a thatch of grass to munch on.

There was no thought in the man’s head. Just the shallow rising and falling of his chest.  Up, down.  Up, down. In and out. Breathe.

He groaned softly as he lifted his arm to block the sun from his face.

Sore.

An easy move made hard by the crash of the fall.

Cursing silently, he cajoled himself to sit up.

“Is it worth it?” He asked as he looked at the horse.  “Does it really matter?”

His back stiffened in protest as he shifted to his knees. The man slowly turned his head to see if there are any witnesses to his fall.  There was no one around.  Only the three rail fence separating him and the horse from the open fields. Past that, open prairie expanding into the horizon.  No one was there to impress; no one to disappoint. There was nothing to prove. The man exhales slowly.

The horse’s nicked as the man stood up. Every bone and muscle protested against him. He stretched to protest back.

Sighing at the thought, the man groaned as he bent to pick up his hat. Limping as he walked, he made his way to the horse. The horses ears twitched as she shifted away from him.

“Easy.” He soothed. “Let’s take this slow.”

The man slid his boot in the stirrup and climbed back into the saddle.