A minimalist at heart…
drawn to flash aka micro aka sudden writing, here are some of my photos partnered with my 100-word stories.
Sign Language
She feels him looking at her, doesn’t turn to meet his gaze right away, then does, then looks away. A tiny thrill pulses through her. Warming to her subject—a description of a woman and child she saw waiting for a bus—she continues talking and gesturing in her animated way, her hands forming modifying shapes like adverbs and adjectives which, after fifteen years of marriage, drives her husband crazy. It’s true what they say, that the things that attract you to someone initially are the very things you come to dislike about them. But he is not her husband.
Contrast
Photographers usually want some details in the shadow areas of their images to add interest, and in post production — the darkroom, Photoshop — they can isolate them and coax them out.
For half my adult life, for reasons I only partially understand, I was drawn to the darkness. Well, not the darkness of cruelty, but to those shadows, the lure of what lay beneath. And maybe, like my eyes, I adjusted to the dark over time.
Now I find more interest in the light, the warm glow of partnership, companionship, love without resistance or struggle, clean living. Except for dark chocolate.
REFLECTION
#1
I dipped my toe in the puddle, felt the soft give, and pushed a little harder until my foot went through followed by the rest of me. Next thing I knew I was flying down to the wire where I alit and then watched as my husband came out the back door. Caw, I called. Ignoring me, he looked around, called my name, gave a small shrug and went back inside. Much better than that time when the clouds were so thick I almost couldn’t find my way home. You have to be careful not to lose your bearings.
#2
I remember when we were kids and my little brother woke us all up in the middle of the night with a nightmare he couldn’t shake. Flailing in full panic, shouting and crying, he thought he was upside down and couldn’t right himself.
Time and space are fluid, as are situations, and sexuality.
We can’t step into the same stream twice, of consciousness or otherwise, but we can step into a puddle again and again…until it dries up, of course. We can dive into the sea, or into the sky. Even disoriented, it only matters which end is up.
The Sound of Silence
The scritch of a pencil being sharpened, or a fountain pen on paper,
the busy clack or hunt-and-peck of a typewriter,
the expected or unexpected b-r-r-r-ing of a telephone,
the overt or covert click of a camera shut-ter,
the whisper or [sigh] of a page turning,
the TikTok I mean the tick-tock of a clock,
all available as digital simulations,
so we can indulge our nostalgia at whim.
What sounds will the next generation simulate?
The silence of eyes staring at screens?
LOL
I’ve never been clear whether that’s
laughing online or laughing out loud.
Either way, I’m really not.
