art

All is Well

/ Liz H-H / 2 Comments
Bald Eagle lifting a fish from open waters

Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=THUNDER. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES.

Thunder just past midnight wakes me, causes my cat to lift his head and chirrup, then press himself deeper into my side and relax: all is well with the world.

Earlier in the day, a friend and I had emerged from a soft dirt path and shaded woods by the Mississippi into a blaze of July that took our breath away and slowed our steps.

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FlashNano Day 21: “We are longing…”

/ Liz H-H / 1 Comment
purple violets on a black background

A contemplative piece, part true, part fantasy, from the place where dreams slumber? Day 21 of a flash a day in the month of November. Inspiring prompts generously offered by Nancy Stohlman.

We Are Longing

The city street is deserted, trolleys on the next block down stopped, their electric hum silent in this liminal moment just before sunrise. A cat strolls liquid over cobblestones and around the edges of the shop doors, slipping away after having surveyed the trash cans and finding nothing to its liking. We sit on our black railed balcony on the third floor and drink in the desires of those who have not yet shaken the dreams from their blankets.

We are early risers and we are longing.

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Right? Right?!

/ Liz H-H / 18 Comments

 

Graffiti-covered tunnel, stairs curving upward into light

From Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr’s photo prompt, The Unicorn Challenge (07/07/23). No more than 250 words in length. Otherwise, let your creative flag fly!

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Inspired by subterranean graffiti below the family’s old Victorian, he lived in the basement, coming up only to grab some food for himself, or cook a meal on the rare occasions when his parents were home. His sisters fled to school and beyond, and when his parents became housebound, the girls’ annual visits dwindled and ceased. An uncurious caretaker watched over his father, keeping him fed and bathed and toileted.

And Charles finally, mostly free. Continue reading →

Dear John

/ Liz H-H / 30 Comments

fountain pen

“What instrument shall I use, and what medium to convey my deepest and most honest wishes?”  Annalisa, one hand holding her elbow, the other holding her chin, scanned the open drawer filled with seven different kinds of pens (one with eight different nibs for calligraphy), a half dozen different colored inks, brushes of many sizes and an uncounted number of acrylic paints (some rolled tight into tiny secret snails of color, others fat and shiny like a slug that didn’t give a shit), a box of 50-count soft pastels (none broken, but all tested and of different lengths…a lovely diversity), and no markers of any kind as she detested them. Continue reading →

Still Waters

/ Liz H-H / 8 Comments

“Okay, you can uncover your eyes now.”

“Wow! That’s beautiful…and heartbreaking. Who made this mural?”

“Trevor made this one. And take a few steps around this corner. This is one by Teresa. Yeah…it makes me tremble, too.”

“Wait! Those quiet kids who never join in on anything?” Continue reading →