For this week’s challenge, find some magic, and charm us with it.
I followed the dewy fragrance and stumbled upon the garden. It twinkled and rustled. And then I heard a faint splash. A melodic squeaking filled the air. Yes, it squeaked but it had a fullness. What could it be? I knelt for a closer look.
Closer still. This is what I saw.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. There he was. The golden fairy bug, blowing some sweet sounds on his sax. I could really hear him now. Man, he could play.
Here’s the full view of the fairy garden. I’m sure he wasn’t alone.
This week, share a photo of something vibrant. Let’s wash the web with a rainbow of colors to keep the winter gloom at bay.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes it takes a bit of grey to see the color.
These orange doors caught my eye. How could they not? I named this “Orange Boost.”
I didn’t say it was pretty, but how about that orange? Or, do you think this color is red?
On a grey day, I think this field of green looks especially vibrant. For once, California is enjoying some rain. This field is usually brown for most of the year. I had to snap a photo to remember this lovely color.
And now…a splash of yellow. I took this one a few years ago in the Municipal Rose Garden in San Jose. Spring will be here in no time.
I saw Cee’s challenge over at Ali’s blog,Drailman on Life, and wanted to join in. I love taking pictures of paths. I have many and here are a few. The goal of this challenge is to take a photo featuring a path, road, bridge or whatever, in which it is the main focus.
And I was so inspired, I wrote a poem. I hope I didn’t break too many rules.
It’s great to be back with the Friday Fictioneers after a brief hiatus. I look forward to reading as many stories as I can. Thank you, Doug, for the gorgeous photo for inspiration and to Rochelle for her generous time.
I’m not sure what this is. I hope you enjoy it.
Click here for more offerings from the Fictioneers.
When my mother tells me, as she often does, “Timmy, you got your head in the clouds,” I always thought it a compliment. What better way to pass the time than in billowy, floating cream puffs? When I am older I will fly amongst their glittery, vaporous masses with the seagulls, airplanes, and satellites.
“Drink your juice,” she taps my glass.
When she says, “I’m beside myself with excitement, literally,” I want to laugh. Who talks like this? My mother makes no sense.
Moments before launching into intergalactic space, I understand, my earth self gazing up at me, wishing me well.