Google Images

birds lords of the air
wright brothers and others born
the sky weaponized

for Photo Challenge


tonight clouds lie close
to the land hiding hilltops
muffling city sounds

for Your Daily Word Prompt


magnanimous fox
visits coop in moonlight and
leaves one hen for us

for Fandango One-word Challenge


confusion of birds
returning every winter
find shopping center

for Ragtag Daily Prompt


are we too human
or not human enough
we err. that’s human
in fact, the inhuman is very human
but we also enjoy the milk of human kindness
and so we have hope, which springs eternal in our human breast
let us scan stories, then, of human interest, for positive signs
of our humanity

for The Twiglets


PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Josh is a member of a homeless family. He does his share by working the lines in the city.

If it’s raining, he rents umbrellas. Price is negotiated according to how close to the front of the line the rentee is. When the rentee reaches the front of the line, he/she (now we use “they”) returns the umbrella.

While dickering, Josh also has snacks on offer. He’s available to run errands for those in line, provide relaxing in situ massages, entertain young children, gamble on the flip of a coin.

He’s on the way up.

for Friday Fictioneers

future stumps

The woods waited for her, everyday she passed the ancient sickly trunks, she felt the wind still with their bated breath.

But hang on, she said to herself. The trees are waiting in great suspense, very anxiously or excitedly? Day after day? No wonder they’re sickly.

Also, she continued internally, the wind consists of their joint breath? If the wind is still, then the trees are holding their breath? Shouldn’t they be breathing rapidly? Hard to hold your breath for days when you’re anxious and excited.

She stopped to inspect a trunk. Uh oh. Borer larvae. These trees weren’t waiting for her and their breath wasn’t bated. They were waiting for a careless campfire to put them out of their misery.

for First Line Friday


I’m proud of my boy.

He may not be proud of me, once he’s old enough to appreciate my predicament, but be that as it may, I am unapologetic.

“How could you?” my spouse says. “I’m away helping my mother for a week and this happens? What were you thinking?”

These kinds of questions are hard to answer.

“Who puts a ’32 Ford L-head V-8 engine in a Kozy Koop?” she says.

I did not correct her, but it was more like putting the Kozy Koop on the engine, not the other way around.

“Who lets a three-year-old drive a 85-horsepower vehicle with a twin-throat carburetor and dual-plane intake manifold?” she says.

I let that pass, assuming it was hypothetical. Or do I mean rhetoretical?

“He’s never even learned to pedal the Koop,” she says.

“I trained him up,” I say.

That got me a stare like a dagger.

“I let him steer the Ranchero, sitting on my lap,” I say. “I put a governor on the Ford engine. It couldn’t do much over fifty.”

“There were twenty other Koops on that football field for the contest.”

“He didn’t hit none of them,” I say. “He went straight through and into the creek before a single one of them made more than ten yards.”

I was the only one who cheered, which I think showed poor sportsmanship on the part of the other parents.

for Friday Foto Flash Fiction Challenge


ten birds in a net
meant to catch falling apples
i forget to check

for Stream of Consciousness Saturday


instincts not habits
motivate most animals
habits control one

for Word of the Day Challenge