Fiction Friday

Photo by Austrian National Library on Unsplash

Ana lurches in bed, aching all over, exhausted.

Soon her son, Ethan, will come over for ‘cuddles’ and the day will begin, maybe more tiring than the night. Sweat covers Ana’s body, but she can’t shower before he comes, because she doesn’t want to wake him up earlier than he would by himself or make him cry when he sees the bed empty. He needs her hugs and kisses to start his day. Ana knows this too will pass.

Ethan crosses the little hallway in a gallop, then jumps up and throws himself on Ana. …

Tuesday: Changing the frequency of thought

BC, Canada — author’s pic

I chose not to raid the streets this morning,
right after I woke, when others are still fast asleep,
as I do every day, rain, fog, or shine,
following the birds, undulating with the poppies,
leaning into the soothing magic of guided meditations.

I chose to sit on my giant bed, on top of my pillows,
breathing in, breathing out, inhaling this landscape
my blessed universe found on top of the world.

Not questioning why not blaming myself for procrastination
I’m leaving behind the yoga flow I scheduled to follow,
finding words on the keyboard instead, tapping
tiny smiles of satisfaction, for this…

I owe her so

British Columbia — author’s pic

She’d join me in bed at night, my friend Insomnia
cuddle and hug me tightly in suffocating embraces.
I’d fight off those gripping clutches, but she won every time.

It’s only when I stopped resisting that we both relaxed in snuggles,
only when I seized back, that we became friends.
I accepted my extra free time as a present from the gods.

Insomnia was there to guide me through writing, reading,
watching educational shows and learning new languages.
I strived to be the best student, not to waste my gift.

I moved away last year, and now my friend no…

Thursday: Healed people heal people

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Your scream, his scream, her scream, their scream. Tacit. Hidden. Festering inside. Fix my life. Fix me. I’m broken. Why won’t anyone fix me?

I took my life as it came, hard, harder, the hardest. I went ahead, picked myself up, sometimes from far behind wherever I had been. Resilience, they call it. I learned the word here, in North America. I rejected it. For it was hope, faith in what I could do with absolutely nothing and without anyone else’s help other than my own.

No life needs mending. They only need to be seen, acknowledged, treasured, embraced, danced…

How soon we become memories

Image by PIRO4D from Pixabay

I remember her long-fingered hands on the piano, swans undulating their necks, one with the music, entrancing. Lifting them now, limp, rigid, hunched in a fearful clench, I shuddered. This is death. At least, if she died near her grand piano that would have seemed more plausible. Passion would not have been out of place there—a crime of passion.

“Did you know her?”

I looked at my sergeant, surprised. From where she stood, she could only see my back. Yet, she understood my body language well.

“I did,” I answered. “Not that well, though, so I’ll keep myself on the…

100 years

Photo by Austrian National Library on Unsplash

I’ve never seen this photograph before. I didn’t think there were any of you so young.

In this one, your rifle is on your shoulder, and you’re facing the camera in-between three other young soldiers, half-smiling, all undoubtedly thinking that it could be their last smile for the loved ones to see and keep.

It has 1939 written on its back, and I can’t believe it survived, shoved around from box to box for almost 100 years.

It must have been taken before you left for Tatra, and you may not have known of its existence or merely forgotten about…

I carry it with me

BC, Canada — author’s pic

Home is where calm, quieting thoughts welcome the miracle of life.

Home is where humility replaces pride and bathes the self in an aura of light.

Home is deep inside me whenever peace reigns shining smiles for the outside.

Little by little

Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash

I eat popcorn, one piece at a time, as if it were the most exquisite food on Earth. I remember when that’s all we had, the kernels we peeled off the corncob, shook them free of flakes and then put them in the aluminum pot to pop. The pot we bought from the gypsies, and we knew a phone booth or some pillar had to be vandalized for it, but we still bought it because no shop ever sold it, and the gypsies knew what they were doing. …

Georgia Lewitt

Mom, spouse, health, fitness and yoga lover, traveler, nature appassionata. We are passers-by. Smiles are free. Words matter.

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