When Daniel comes to, he blinks blood from his eyes. The teen unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls out the driver’s side window. He staggers up the embankment and sits on the dirt road, gazing at his father’s mauled Camaro.
Still in shock, he can’t recall what the text message said.
The incessant drone of cicadas, a pebble in my shoe, stickle-burrs in my socks, wild mustard growing in the ditches.
The live oaks wave their tassels, covering the landscape with a fine golden pollen. Down this hot summer-dusty road, it’s only two miles and forty sneezes to my little home.
The Plymouth fins flew by Dead Man’s Curve. Only a painted Indian head honors three teens lost lives one night to irrationality. Forks in the dirt road, gone. Joe’s shack and waves over tiger lilies last roar. The dirt road meanders, car clouds hide behind “Tempus Fugit” cross references.
I drive interstates as well as back roads. But there is no interstate that gets you over the mountains from Troy, NY to Concord, NH. And I drive this to see family. So, it's mostly two lane state highway (OK, not dirt roads). But I love the drive. It's beautiful and relaxing, no white knuckles.
I had no idea you live in Troy! We’re practically neighbors. When my parents lived in upstate NY, I often took the backroads to go visit them. Nothing but small towns and rolling green hills for miles and miles…I loved that drive.
Once neighbors , I drove back roads Syracuse to Oneonta. Snowflakes size of quarters on way home after weekend with a microbiologist scoping the finer things in life.
Neat! I spent four years of my life in Oneonta while studying for my undergraduate degree. It will always hold a special place in my heart. I also grew up in the Utica, NY area.
Wow - those last four lines! So true. This reminds me of the writing of Sue Cauhape who often philosophically takes us down the unpaved back roads of Nevada's high desert.
All the other homes they had seen were on paved roads. When they saw the listing for the perfect-sounding home, they wavered at it being down a dirt road. The pine trees grew dense as navigated the winding road, emanating an eerie feeling. What they discovered took their breath away.
Hard-baked soil. Searing sun igniting parched grass under a broken beer bottle. Tumbleweed rolling through a colourless landscape. Diamond-back coils rattling like a loose fender. Desert winds selecting outfits from a discarded suitcase. Things mostly look just the same when you’re hanging from a seatbelt. Just the other way up.
Oh, wow, Barrie! The details in this story planted me directly in the scene. It’s amazing how much emotion you can pack into these fifty-worders. Great stuff, my friend.
The jeep skid down the rough road leading to the ranch. He didn't want to keep the buyer's waiting. The sound of the guitar strumming, the kitchen simmering nascent memories and the laughter of the kids playing rough suddenly hit him. He called the agent to cancel the sale.
Dust billows, then settles again. Shadows of the pines loom over. Patches of shadow give way to light and back to shadow. The sound of the tires on the road. The feel of the wind through the open windows.
No memory of the past, only the dirt road before me.
Hey, Mark! Nice to meet you and read your words here. This is such an atmospheric piece, and you really grounded me in the scene with those sensory details. Excellent work! Thanks so much for sharing with us! 🙏
Wow, Alex. This is breathtaking. I loved the comparisons from start to finish. Those final three lines will stick with me for the rest of the evening….powerful work! Thank you for sharing!
Distracted, fiction
When Daniel comes to, he blinks blood from his eyes. The teen unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls out the driver’s side window. He staggers up the embankment and sits on the dirt road, gazing at his father’s mauled Camaro.
Still in shock, he can’t recall what the text message said.
Oh, man, Justin! (That text message probably said, "Remember, son, -- don't text while you drive.") What a fine example of 50-word fiction.
Thank you so much, Sharron. It very well could have been that!
Good one. Gripping.
Thank you, Scott! 🙏
Beautiful and yet sorrowful!
Thank you for reading, Sunil!
The Road Home - prose poem
The incessant drone of cicadas, a pebble in my shoe, stickle-burrs in my socks, wild mustard growing in the ditches.
The live oaks wave their tassels, covering the landscape with a fine golden pollen. Down this hot summer-dusty road, it’s only two miles and forty sneezes to my little home.
What a beautiful, sensory-loaded poem, Sharron. The last line made me smile, too. Thanks for bringing me on that walk with you!
Thanks for organizing the opportunity!
“Two miles and forty sneezes …” excellent!
Hah! You notice I changed it u p a bit for posting on 🌿Leaves
Dirt Road /Fiction
The Plymouth fins flew by Dead Man’s Curve. Only a painted Indian head honors three teens lost lives one night to irrationality. Forks in the dirt road, gone. Joe’s shack and waves over tiger lilies last roar. The dirt road meanders, car clouds hide behind “Tempus Fugit” cross references.
What a vivid piece, Richard. I felt like I was there witnessing it!
Rocks me too. Feather headdress and last war hoops.
The Road With No Map--poem
It’s a contradiction.
Highways efficiently move us
And our things. They
Fulfill our needs.
Dirt roads imply travel to where
Civilization is on the decline.
Yet we often prefer those roads,
finding places that better acquaint us
With who we are,
Rather than with who we are expected to be.
Lovely poem. I completely agree with this sentiment!
I do too!
I always take the back roads when time permits. And if it doesn't, I try to give myself more time!
Back roads are where the stories lie!
I drive interstates as well as back roads. But there is no interstate that gets you over the mountains from Troy, NY to Concord, NH. And I drive this to see family. So, it's mostly two lane state highway (OK, not dirt roads). But I love the drive. It's beautiful and relaxing, no white knuckles.
I had no idea you live in Troy! We’re practically neighbors. When my parents lived in upstate NY, I often took the backroads to go visit them. Nothing but small towns and rolling green hills for miles and miles…I loved that drive.
Once neighbors , I drove back roads Syracuse to Oneonta. Snowflakes size of quarters on way home after weekend with a microbiologist scoping the finer things in life.
Neat! I spent four years of my life in Oneonta while studying for my undergraduate degree. It will always hold a special place in my heart. I also grew up in the Utica, NY area.
Small world. Buffalo Bills just defeat Chiefs . Yea!
Wow - those last four lines! So true. This reminds me of the writing of Sue Cauhape who often philosophically takes us down the unpaved back roads of Nevada's high desert.
https://suecauhape.substack.com/p/exploring-the-eastern-sierra-nevada
Town and Country/Fiction
Erica felt unworthy of Cal’s love.
“I was raised on a dirt road.”
“Pull it up on Google Maps,” he said, typing into his own phone. “I’m from 138th Street, about as paved as you get.”
He held up their phones together.
She smiled, relaxing. “They look exactly the same.”
Excellent, Scott! Thanks for sharing.
The Right One-fiction
All the other homes they had seen were on paved roads. When they saw the listing for the perfect-sounding home, they wavered at it being down a dirt road. The pine trees grew dense as navigated the winding road, emanating an eerie feeling. What they discovered took their breath away.
A diamond in the rough. Loved this, Kim!
Hoping we have a similar story some day!
Road to Nowhere (50 words)
Hard-baked soil. Searing sun igniting parched grass under a broken beer bottle. Tumbleweed rolling through a colourless landscape. Diamond-back coils rattling like a loose fender. Desert winds selecting outfits from a discarded suitcase. Things mostly look just the same when you’re hanging from a seatbelt. Just the other way up.
Oh, wow, Barrie! The details in this story planted me directly in the scene. It’s amazing how much emotion you can pack into these fifty-worders. Great stuff, my friend.
Really appreciate that, Justin. Great prompt and the story just wrote itself. I steered the pen a little. Feeling my mojo coming back. ✍️
Non negotiable
The jeep skid down the rough road leading to the ranch. He didn't want to keep the buyer's waiting. The sound of the guitar strumming, the kitchen simmering nascent memories and the laughter of the kids playing rough suddenly hit him. He called the agent to cancel the sale.
Good one, Sunil! Always a pleasure to read your stories.
Uncharted, Fiction
She signals right and pulls over abruptly. She squints down the sun-drenched stretch of dirt road to her left.
“It’s not on the map.” Her voice trembles with uncertainty.
“Neither were you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and her skin warms.
She signals left. With certainty.
What a sweet and brilliantly executed story, Meg. Loved it! Thanks for dropping by and sharing this with us!
Thanks for hosting!!!
Wow. I was right there.... It's not on the map ... fear, anxiety.... Even Neither were you... I did not relax until her skin warmed. Thank you.
Thank you, Annie. 💜
To Home on a Dirt Road, a poem --
Dusty
boots.
My sword
On my back.
Bruises
Throb.
Down the road.
Home.
Shattered,
Ideals.
Dwarfed,
My zeal,
Smoke
And blood.
Yet
My boots point
Home.
Left behind.
The fallen,
Not walking.
I carry
Trinkets
Of their devotion
Home.
Walking.
Dusty road
No passion
Remains.
Just fear,
Regret.
Still,
Home.
This is epic in scope, Annie! Brilliant! I loved every word.
Forest Gladiator, Fiction
Dust billows, then settles again. Shadows of the pines loom over. Patches of shadow give way to light and back to shadow. The sound of the tires on the road. The feel of the wind through the open windows.
No memory of the past, only the dirt road before me.
Hey, Mark! Nice to meet you and read your words here. This is such an atmospheric piece, and you really grounded me in the scene with those sensory details. Excellent work! Thanks so much for sharing with us! 🙏
Thank you for the idea and the kind words. I really enjoyed the exercise. 🙏🏻
Dirt Road | (50-word poem)
Some days
Are just a long ache
A baking sun
You can’t squint or hide from
If we must have light
Let it run from us
Dead ahead, racing
Twin high beams
Gold in the evening
Cool and even
Some nights
It takes a dirt road
To wash ourselves clean
Wow, Alex. This is breathtaking. I loved the comparisons from start to finish. Those final three lines will stick with me for the rest of the evening….powerful work! Thank you for sharing!