Special thanks to John Lightle for providing “The Slate River Passage” for our writing prompt.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
Lana departed for the mountains, leaving her troubles behind. When she arrived, she popped the trunk and breathed in pine—set up her canvas and easel. But then she realized she’d left her paints behind, too. A small smile surfaced.
I wrote my story before reading any posts here, which is my usual method so I don't get influenced by what was written. It appears we had similar ideas but different outcomes. 🤣
Kent normally painted the browns and oranges of the Arizona desert. When he saw the beautiful greens and blues of the Slate River Passage, he had to paint it. Kent got out his paints and easel and got busy. He was so inspired he didn’t hear the bear behind him.
Ha! We were on the same path, Mark, until the bear. 🐻 🤣 Great twist and story. I follow the same approach: write my story without reading any other responses. That’s why I love these “gatherings” so much. The outcomes can be vastly different and also very similar. It’s always fun to see where the pieces land! Thank you for sharing.
The Dollar Store employee on a smoke break, scribbling in a notebook. My breath, sharp and thin, at Imogene Pass. A handwritten recipe. “Roam” by the B52’s. An acceptance letter. My 83-year-old husband’s cycling class. The crisp scent of lavender in my herb garden. An orange gel pen. Black-and-white snapshots.
Beautiful, Amie. Your writing always inspires me. I’ve been getting in my own way lately…stress, burning out, you name it. I retreated to the woods today and feel rejuvenated. Thank you for sharing this. 🙏
Where is the Slate River? Someplace I have never been. When I see the brook, I can feel the cool water on my calves and the rocks underfoot. I can imagine carefully stepping from one smooth flat surface to another, pants rolled up to my knees, shoes in my hand.
Lia, Your prose mentions that you've never been in the Slate River, but your writing says otherwise. About a half hour after I took this photograph, what you describe was exactly what I was doing.
Just Be, fiction
Lana departed for the mountains, leaving her troubles behind. When she arrived, she popped the trunk and breathed in pine—set up her canvas and easel. But then she realized she’d left her paints behind, too. A small smile surfaced.
"Just be," her mother used to say.
Lana finally listened.
Ah, Justin. Yes. We are all so concerned with doing, doing, doing, and forget to just BE. Good old mom... Old people know stuff.
I can confirm that. 🤣
Beautiful story, Justin.
I wrote my story before reading any posts here, which is my usual method so I don't get influenced by what was written. It appears we had similar ideas but different outcomes. 🤣
Thank you so much, Mark. I just responded below as well!
EXTRAORDINARY DAYS, prose poem
Inspiration is everywhere — it’s in the rain, in the salt air, in children’s laughter.
Today we are constantly confronted with human failure. We grieve over our spiritual poverty, epidemic ignorance and pointless violence.
But we cannot let the Sting of these extraordinary days overshadow the Blessing. We’re alive. Hope lives.
A perfect reminder, Sharron, and so elegantly written. It was a piece I needed to read. Grateful for you! Thank you for sharing. 🙏
We need more like this. The fault truly does not lie in the stars, but in ourselves.
So true. Why fixate on the bad? Seek out the good. Do good. Be good. Be thankful.
Saucy, fiction
Chef Mia gazed at the vibrant colors of the sunset over the ocean and had an idea.
Back in her kitchen, she blended mangoes, citrus, and habaneros with onions and peppers into a sauce for escovitch fish.
With every bite, diners tasted the sea and the warmth of the sun.
Love this, Caro!
Did someone say Happy Hour?
Haha! It’s 5 PM somewhere.
Inspired By Nature • Fiction
Kent normally painted the browns and oranges of the Arizona desert. When he saw the beautiful greens and blues of the Slate River Passage, he had to paint it. Kent got out his paints and easel and got busy. He was so inspired he didn’t hear the bear behind him.
Ha! We were on the same path, Mark, until the bear. 🐻 🤣 Great twist and story. I follow the same approach: write my story without reading any other responses. That’s why I love these “gatherings” so much. The outcomes can be vastly different and also very similar. It’s always fun to see where the pieces land! Thank you for sharing.
My pleasure. I enjoy being part of the community and seeing the different responses.
Hah! Great ending.
As a River, poetry
Inspiration is the space between
River rolling kissed golden
By sun summer holding
Peaks in the palm
Of meadow glow
Melt snow
Pine willow
Sweet water mountains
Running rocks to the sea
“Take a picture”
“Make it last forever”
“Drink this”
“Remember me”
Each wild infinity
And what could be
Breathtaking, Alex! And I appreciate the hopeful, optimistic tone. Thank you so much for sharing!
Thanks Justin! Never done an exercise like this, but it was fun to try. You’ve created a great vibe around here.
Well that’s kind of you to say! Thank you, Alex. I’m happy you enjoyed the exercise. 😊
Thanks to both Justin and John for the work you do.
Here is my poem, Inspiration:
Who are we?
Who are these mammals
That imagine, reason, anticipate
Beyond any immediate need.
What might be?
What should be?
What makes a
Difference?
A dog, cat, human,
All enjoy a sunset.
They all love, I think.
But only we see hope in
A setting sun,
And imagine tomorrow.
Beautiful!
Lovely, R.I. We are on the same wavelength today
low-tech inspo || CNF
The Dollar Store employee on a smoke break, scribbling in a notebook. My breath, sharp and thin, at Imogene Pass. A handwritten recipe. “Roam” by the B52’s. An acceptance letter. My 83-year-old husband’s cycling class. The crisp scent of lavender in my herb garden. An orange gel pen. Black-and-white snapshots.
Beautiful, Amie. Your writing always inspires me. I’ve been getting in my own way lately…stress, burning out, you name it. I retreated to the woods today and feel rejuvenated. Thank you for sharing this. 🙏
Lovely, Amie. Inspiration's all around us if our eyes are open.
A Photograph Takes Me Away (nonfiction)
Where is the Slate River? Someplace I have never been. When I see the brook, I can feel the cool water on my calves and the rocks underfoot. I can imagine carefully stepping from one smooth flat surface to another, pants rolled up to my knees, shoes in my hand.
Lovely work, Lia! Thank you for sharing!
Lia, Your prose mentions that you've never been in the Slate River, but your writing says otherwise. About a half hour after I took this photograph, what you describe was exactly what I was doing.
Wow, thanks for sharing that!
The Clasp of Hands
_______
Imagine the pulse of 131 million women
hearts a relentless drumbeat
marching to the polls
eyes a storm
beside them, men they love
124 million strong
standing like sentinels
hands clasped
a tidal wave crashes
against cliffs of inequality
proclaiming change
a shout into the void
reshaping the horizon
This is so powerful, Gloria. Every line, every detail, every image. Thank you for sharing these inspiring words! 🙏