Here, everything is preserved in time.
The landscape frozen
in its final expression.
Caves gape at some distant surprise
where cornflower skies kiss sapphire seas,
time after time.
Icicles drip over the cliff’s edge
like the cascading crystalline hair
of a slumbering, frozen
Ice Queen who cares for
naught but her beauty sleep.
And a tender glowing expression.
I’m just about getting this in before the link closes!
Written for dVerse Poets Pub open link night. I missed the chance to post on Amaya’s Cascade challenge earlier this week so getting a two in one. It’s not in the exact form, but learned a lot in the process!
Images from hideawayreport.com (1) and wildfoottravel.com (2)
PHOTO PROMPT© Sandra Crook
He came to escape. Refresh. Clear his mind. Where better than a lodge out in the Botswana bush? Archer checked his phone for the fiftieth time. Only her screen-lock picture smiled back at him.
Outside, a masked weaver bird worked diligently on his nest. A female fluttered by and slipped inside the hanging nest. Archer knew if she liked it she would stay. Within seconds she popped out and flew off. Just like that. No warning. No goodbye. Leaving the weaver bird staring after her wondering what he did wrong.
“Chin up, buddy. The right one will stay.”
The prompt reminded me of the bright yellow weaver birds that are prominent in Botswana. There’s one that tears the leaves off of my palm tree into thin strips to weave his nest. They are such clever little things.
Honestly, I’m not sure if the females inspect the nest to their liking. Some bird species in the world build elaborate nests, complete with fancy bottle caps or shiny pieces of litter, and the female arrives to inspect it all. If she approves she simply settles right in. If not, she continues on her way.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less.
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