For The Sunday Muse Prompt #175, and the shades of that garden it reminds me of: ** I am dreaming again of days gone by, of nights - heavy with the weight of solitude - lightened by the joy of discovery, a light born of tumult in an age of innocence. This is what the glow-worms in their flitting feel, each shimmer of light a whisper into the night to see and be seen.
For The Sunday Muse prompt #123: ** Even in the darkness the beauty of lent light shines through, the golden petals of the sunflowers magnificent as they follow the sun. Beauty, hitherto hidden, is called out by the sharing of the light, the sum of its parts many times more brilliant than when it hides alone.
For The Sunday Muse prompt #114: \\\* May the pains of today’s desires lose themselves in the fragrance of a love reborn, the pained passion of unrequited love find itself returned in time like a blossom that speaks, a sacred whisper to the soul colouring everything in the light of a rose, beautiful in its bleeding yet whole, because the Lover and the Loved like thorn and rose find themselves entwined, from past pain and tortured paths, delirious joy arising.
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #82. \\\* Though quiet in their noon day repose, strength hides within their supple limbs, the power of the one - unfettered in its reach - melded to the quiet guile of the other; together - a Whole stronger than its parts - freely, wildly going.
For The Sunday Muse prompt, Night Sky \\\* The starlight sprinkled like tiny slivers of silver splashed against a dark canvas peels back the curtain on a tumultuous past- birth, death, dust clouds swirling, mists of primordial molecules accreting, then Becoming - a message to the future from the past echoing down the aeons like a strummed string. I was here before you were; before your father was, and his father’s father too Now you see me as I was. Ponder.
For Wordle 381: --- Last night they gathered with intent, forty-eight memo s a lingering stench that could no longer be shrug ged away. Behind the bluster of “doing the right thing” was the lure of the key s to Number 10. When the frame is badly broken can the picture be restored? Is the crime of lying word s so great that everything is irretrievably broken and no longer of use? Inside, the Wounded lived to fight another day; outside the circling hyenas beaten back for a season will return.