A Picture Says a 1000 Words....




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. 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.

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    Replies
    1. Beautiful and poetic prose. Thank you for sharing Nathan.

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