Cello Him Home – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Wednesday evening. I could not very well NOT participate this week as this is my own photo, right? Thank you, Rochelle, for enjoying my photos enough to reproduce them in paint and to use for Friday Fictioneers. I’m truly honoured. This photo was written about here, so I had to think up something else. I was inspired by a favourite movie of mine…

Do click on the frog below to read other wonderful stories, or, should you feel inspired, to write your own!.

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Cello Him Home

Marcy leaned over from the edge of her seat, resting her arms on the railing. She loved the buzz of the the theatre filling with patrons and it thrilled her to imagine how it would feel should she be the artist all were there to watch.

She was Lyla Novacek, playing her Adagio-Moderato from Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor, convinced it would bring her long-lost son back into her arms. She was so into the beautiful music she nearly jumped out of her skin when the announcement boomed over the speakers:

“Bonsoir! Bienvenue au show de Francis Cabrel!”

Weekend Writing Prompt #190 – Marginal

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

 

 

A woman, now a mother,

will

without qualms,

become a marginal note

on her page of life

to give her children space

to create their destiny

Then,

her next chapter awaits

 

Allô Ma Chérie!

“We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.”
― Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass

Winter Solstice.  The shortest day of the year, which sometimes, can feel like the longest.

I’m driving home from a much-needed oil change for my car.  I know what day it is and yet I don’t want to focus on the sad but on the date, the season.  Claude Debussy’s beautifully romantic, and to me, sad, Clair de Lune starts to play on the radio.

I feel nostalgic and though my heart pinches a little, I smile as I drive.  I can’t help but think of Mick and Mémère (my grandmother) dying on the same day, five years apart.  Winter Solstice. I don’t know why there is something right about it.

We had gone up north to visit my mother and, of course, did a side trip two villages over to visit my grandmother – we always made sure we did.  She must have been about 85-87-89?, give or take, when she told us of a dream she had had.

I dreamt that you were my boyfriend, Mick.  Môman was not happy about it at all.  She said to me ‘What are you doing with an English boy?  You don’t even speak it properly!’  I answered to my mother:  ‘But I love him!’

Well, needless to say, she was giggling as she told us the story.  And Mick being Mick was not one to let such a thing go.  Every single time we went up north, he’d sidle up to Mémère, wrap his arm around her shoulder, give her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and say “Allô, Bébé! Comment ça va ma chérie?”*

She’d blush furiously, playfully slap him on the arm while hugging him back then give a big smile followed by an “Oh you!”  Their love was real.

I wonder if he is still teasing her now?

*How are things, my darling?

 

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #188 – Languid

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.  Thank you, Sammi.

Sunday Kind of Love

 

This is it, she thought

as she stretched languidly

turning towards her lover

spooning him

feeling his warmth along her length.

 

A Sunday kind of love.

 

She breathed in his scent as

she slid her hand down his arm,

entwining their fingers.

He pulled their hands up to his beating heart

showing her it was his, too.

 

Early Morning Spooning
©Charles M. Williams

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #187 – Niggle

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments. Always a thanks to Sammi for hosting this.

Okay, okay… blame the sappy series I’ve been convinced to watch for this little story. I completely borrowed one of the story lines 😉

Listen to the Niggle

Between sobs, she hiccupped, “Why doesn’t he want to be with me?”

“He told you he didn’t want a relationship, what did you expect?”

“I thought –  maybe – I love him!”

“Did he say it back?

“No.”

“Didn’t you feel a niggle in your gut?”

“I ignored it.”

“Remember what Maya said?”

“‘When someone tells you who they are, believe them.’ I’m such an idiot!”

“Dreamer, maybe…”

 

Weekend Writing Prompt #186 – Quixotic

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments. If you want to play along, click here and add your link to the comment section on Sammi’s post.

Romantic and quixotic is

how I shall remain

Nothing more horrifying than

to just be one and the same

Idealistic, unrealistic

both fires to my flame

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

You Coming? – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #108

Crispina’s challenge had me going through my photos again.  (I think she does it on purpose, now.)  How to choose but one?  I did manage.  My old Zeke is 11 years old and things are a lot different now.  Two years ago we could do much more. One must respect an elder’s pace.

From the first walk we took

where distance mattered not

you would run ahead to explore

but stop when you felt you were too far

You coming?

and wait patiently for me to catch up

only to take off again when you were assured

 

You are now an old man with sore joints

and your steps are limited

I have to make sure that I slow down

that we stray not too far so that you

have the energy to make it back

You coming?

Now, it is I who waits for you

 

Hey Good Looking! – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #107

While Crispina’s bird is a lot bolder in colours, I think mine would make a nice fit… what say you? Always fun to try and find something to go with her fabulous photos! I sense romance might be in the air…

 

The sound of a wolf whistle assailed her ears.

“Hey, good looking! How’s about you leave that snow and join me up on my perch?”

“Are you talking to me?  Did your folks not teach you some manners?”

“Come on, pretty lady, come over and say hello, why don’t you? I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

“Why don’t you get off your perch and come and join me?”

“In the snow? Brrr!”

“You British are a wimpy lot, aren’t you?”

“And you Canadians are a feisty bunch, I say!  I like it!”

“Not afraid I’ll be too much for you?”

“Come on up and show me what you’re made of…”

“You really are such a charmer…”

“So, you coming?”

“Move over, big guy.  Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

 

Bonding – Crimson’s Creative Challenge #105

Crimson Creative Challenge has brought me down memory lane.  I could not help but kinda go over the 150 – but not by too much. I apologise profusely, but I know Crispina is most forgiving.

Remember Father-Child day in kindergarten, Dad?  What a great day that was. I had you all to myself – no brother, no Mom – just us. Well, and the rest of the class.  You were so good with tools and were able to make anything:  my bed, my dresser, all sorts of stuff in the house.  You were the best builder-dad in the class!  You helped me cut the pieces and put them together.  You even made me laugh when I hit my finger with the hammer! In the end, we had such a nice bird feeder.  And you know what?  I still have it.  It’s on top of the bureau you made for me.  Mom almost threw it out!  Boy, did I have a fit. Then I felt bad because she felt bad that I yelled at her.  She did not realise what it meant to me.

Funny how seeing this little house in the woods brought it all back. What I wouldn’t give to build anything with you again.

Hanging On

De from Whimsygizmo is hosting dVerse (okay, it was yesterday and I’m late!) and has told us the sky is the limit for this week’s quadrille.  Now, many of you know I’m partial to clouds and sky so choosing just one photo from my rather large collection was difficult. And probably the reason I couldn’t focus on what to write!  Na’ama assured me the sky was not falling (she checked) and that I could always post today.  Seems she was right, so here I am, after all!

Thoughts and memories

stretch like clouds across the blue sky

Try as you might

to hang on to them

(the good ones)

some will dissipate

gone forever, leaving no trace

Others refuse to let go;

remain part of your story

to nurture

to comfort