Tag Archives: squirrels

FFfAW

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers! Once more I get to join in the fun led by Priceless Joy 🙂 The rules generally go like this: we are given a photo prompt and approximately 75-175 words with which to create our stories. It is fun and everyone is invited to participate. For more information, click HERE.* I may have gone over a bit, at 210 words.  I just felt they were needed to match all those stairs. To read all the other stories inspired by Joy Pixley’s wonderful photo, click HERE.

“I’m telling you, the noise came from up there!” Sheila insisted.

Rose looked up at all the steps.  “Really?”

“Yes!!”

Rose sighed, starting up the steps.

“Rose!”

“What, Sheila?” Rose asked patiently.

“Here–” Sheila handed her a bat “–you can’t go up there empty-handed.”

Taking the bat, Rose continued up the stairs while Sheila stood at the bottom wringing her hands.

Just what Sheila thought was up there, Rose didn’t know. Her next door neighbor always seemed a little high-strung, but the elderly lady was downright hysterical tonight. The steps went up to the widow’s walk on the roof, so it was unlikely anyone had come in or out from there.

By the time Rose got to the top, her legs were shaky and the bat was dragging up the stair treads. Sheila had called up several times, but she seemed very far away now. It was quite dark at the window, with only the moonlight beaming in to light her way. No one had ever run electricity to the walk, and Rose stumbled forward.

Pressing her forehead against the cool glass, Rose let her body relax. Sudden noise had her pulse jumping and she spun, raising the bat, only to laugh weakly.

Sheila had squirrels in her attic.

*I did steal the rules directly from Priceless Joy’s blog 🙂

 

 

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poetry found

Fathers’ Hands

by David Sloan (Goodreads Author)

Carving a bow for my son, who wantsa weapon to terrorize squirrels
and deliver the world, I snag the blade,
fumble the whittle stroke and slice my finger.
The cut oozes. My hand is sturdy,
scarred, nothing like my father’s—
unmarked, maple-colored.

His hands stitched gashes without a flinch.
They mortared rock walls to hold a hillside up.
On the violin, his fingers flew like wingtips.
Once as a child I saw sparks spray
from that smoking bow. He tried to teach
my hands how to drive a nail straight,
which spans would bear a load
and which would snap, how to follow
the grain of things, how to hear notes first,
then pluck them as if out of a peach tree.

A single feather in his hair, my son stalks
the squirrel, holds the bow steady,
draws back the shaft, aims, lets fly.
Target and archer are unruffled by the miss.
He bounds over to the arrow, takes it
in his nimble fingers, so like his father’s
father’s, and nocks the end,
eager to aim, miss and aim again.

Again trying to expand my horizons through poetry. I love the image of the hands and how they fix their children’s world. I also like the buoyancy of the last verse, such an excellent way to describe the optimism of youth. Goodreads does have some very good picks each month. They also run a contest to pick these poems, so here is how to submit yours if you want!

Want your words to reach millions of people? Goodreads and the ¡POETRY! group have partnered to host an ongoing poetry contest. Join the ¡POETRY!group and vote each month to pick a winner from among the finalists. You can also submit a poem for consideration–Goodreads

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Filed under Poetry Wednesday