A Picture Says a 1000 Words....

By



Jeannie, my mother named me that after I Dream of Jeannie, if only my life were that easy.  The wiggle of a nose, and everything sets right.  Life had never been that way, and I never expected it to be.

Sam told me loved me on my sixteenth birthday.  He handed me the purple flower many would call a weed, and tucked it behind an ear.  As he swept my hair back, he kissed me on the cheek and said I would always be his girl.

Everything made sense then, the way the world worked, the boy gets the girl--and I was more than willing to be his girl.  But times changed, moments passed by, choices were executed, mistakes  were made.

Fifteen years have passed, and my husband isn’t Sam.  I married up as they say.  Rich lives in a suit, and even stalks around the condo in one.  Luxurious surroundings, laid out by a professional decorator.  I feel a stranger in my home, the dark contrasts of textures are not my calling.  They don’t wrap around me, and embrace me in warmth.

As I lift myself up from the marble floor, and run the back of a hand across the fresh cut on my lip, I dream of the day so many years ago when the man who truly was my soul mate handed me a flower and promised to love me forever. The man who shadows me now will not intimidate me forever.  I know I am worth so much more than this.  For once I had true love, I will find it again.

~~~
What does this picture say to you? I'd love to read your interpretation.

Comments

  1. AnonymousApril 25, 2012 at 8:15 PM

    Forget about materialism, careless if your lawn is flat, flawless from weeds and crab grass. Forget about city blocks, fast cars. The only violence around is raw nature battling for survival.
    I pick up this piece of nature to my nose. Hints of natural scent roaming through me. As I glance through the hills in the valley and far distant trees. They seem closer, as if I just found home. Acceptance. Not gained love, nor lost it. Just a sense of a mutual belonging.
    My radio is nothing but the song of birds and tall grass sweeping along each other by the gentle breeze.And the distant creek weaving through the rocks.
    I want to be gentle here. Tip toe as if everything is sleeping. Knowing that it is not. Everything is alive.
    I close my eyes, and just as I open them. A white horse appears in front of me. Almost like it is giving me a choice to go further in this forever beauty. Or, to turn back in the cancer of the world. The city. I climb on the horse without regret. Not looking back once, only ahead.
    Nathan Pounder.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Carolyn ArnoldApril 26, 2012 at 6:17 AM

      Beautiful and poetic prose. Thank you for sharing Nathan.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Thank you for taking the time to make a comment.

Popular posts from this blog

When Family Doesn't Support Your Writing

By
If you can empathize with the title of this post, then you're not alone.  So many writers, myself included, can honestly say they have family members who don't support their writing.  Some may go so far as to tell you they don't even want to hear about what you're working on, what you've done, what your goals are.  That hurts. But think about it this way, in some ways is writing any different that an other life decisions your family may not agree with?  I'm sure, if you're like me, you get very defensive when it comes to your writing.  In fact, I'm not going to deny that it places an iron wedge in the relationships.  After all, if your focus in life is your writing, and they ask so what have you been up to ...what are you supposed to do lie, remain quiet, answer another way even though you're so excited about your current WIP you'd tell a stranger?  Ticking clocks are heard in the background while you decide.
Read more

A Big Decision...

By
Image
For those of you who know me, and follow me on Twitter, you may be aware that I’ve been debating whether to pursue publishing traditionally, or take the plunge and self-publish.  With all the “buzz” on the internet, and after great consideration, I have decided to go ahead and self-publish. I had asked myself, does this mean I’m giving up ?  And, the answer is irrevocably no.  Self-publishing used to carry a type of stigma that somehow labelled the work as adhering to a lower standard, but things have changed.  Authors are taking pride in their work like never before, and just because of the increasing ease to self-publishing, they’re not allowing this to affect the quality. In making my decision, I also considered the fact that just because a book is published traditionally it doesn’t mean that it will meet with success.  Many self-published books have received awards, honourable mentions, and have met with even more-than-modest sales.  In fact, there’s ...
Read more

Write What You Love

By
We've all heard the advice, write what you know.  There's been a lot of debate over this piece of advice.  Some see it as valid direction while others argue that there wouldn't be any books if we just wrote what we know.  For example, how many mystery novels are written by real-life detectives?  And, I guess that advice is null when it comes to fantasy genres, and historical fictional works.  No fairy from Neverland wrote a book, and no one from over a hundred years ago can write a book currently.   But, this doesn't mean that we can get sloppy, in fact more work is involved, and this is why writing what we love supersedes all, in my opinion.  How else would we get motivated, and stay motivated to see a novel through to the end? In fact isn't it love for what we’re writing what pushes us through to the conclusion even when we may find the interest in our book weaning, or through the rough middles?  Isn't it the love for what we're writing that f...
Read more