Friday Fictioneers – Lost Love

I’m sorry to have posted and read so little recently – I am making a determined effort to finish the first draft of my novel (which was originally inspired by a Friday Fictioneers prompt). You probably won’t see much of me for another month or so, but I couldn’t resist Sandra’s evocative picture today!

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

FF - Lost Love 190424

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Lost Love

Here, between the indigo shades of night and the pearl-bright morning, between the sky and the falling tide, here she sat, where once she had sat with him, had kissed him, had fallen in love. She sat and listened to the hiss of the waves as they greedily wrestled shingle from the land, she listened to the whisper of a calving glacier, when a million tons of Greenland ice had shattered the sea, she listened to the echo of Krakatoa, whose eruption had rung the earth like a gong.

Her spaniel nuzzled her fingertips, and she sighed.

War is terrible.

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In the moment – Storm at Sea

Sailors in a storm have no choice other than to live in the moment. A brief lapse of attention brings disaster. Most of the time, we don’t need mindfulness to survive. But it is good to practise mindfulness in our daily life; it will always take us towards a place of emotional calm; and one day, when life’s difficulties batter us, it may make all the difference.

Stormy sea 170321 (2)

The small boat flees before the wind

As the storm wrestles the ocean into a swell,

Throwing it through darkness across leagues.

Like a puma, a wave advances silently,

Gathers speed,

And flings itself with a roar upon its prey.

The sailors steer direct towards each wave,

Accept the fury and the peril,

Use the water’s strength to lift them clear.

The voice of the murderous surf deafens them.

It bellows of southern tempests where the ocean rears into cliffs

As solid and more perilous than a rock face.

It shouts of the calving of glaciers into the sea,

The surge of the sea when a million tons of ice plunge into it.

It whispers of Krakatoa, and breathes the name of Atlantis.

The small boat reaches harbour.

Behind the breakwater

Vessels great and small

Are safe.