The Colors Ran: Yellow

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Image courtesy of Pinterest

 

The Colors Ran: Yellow

Part 2

The Burden Basket.

At the time of the fall solstice, on the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), my Great Great Grandmother Howesha Mkwa ‘Cora’ would take down the burden basket that hung beside the mezuzah. The basket was one that she had made from vines she’d collected as a young woman. At this time of the year, the basket was filled with leaves, wilted flowers, and many little pieces of paper and bark that had been written upon. Everyone in the family had contributed to it’s filling over the year. Great Great Grandmother Howesha Mkwa ‘Cora’ would hand carry the basket out the front door where she would hand it to Great Grandmother Howesha Mkwa ‘Belle’ who would carry it around the house to the back yard where Great Grandfather ‘Charles’ had already built up the fire and the family were dancing. The dancing would stop when Great Grandmother ‘Belle’ reached the circle to join Grandmother Two Hawks ‘June’ and I.

The family gathered around the fire, then, leaving an area for Grandmother Two Hawks ‘June’ to walk. Grandmother Two Hawks ‘June’ would call me to her side, then. We would step into the circle the family created and walk one round in silence, often stopping for someone to add something to the basket. Then, Grandmother Two Hawks ‘June’ would begin to sing prayers in our language.

At seven points around the circle, she would stop and say a prayer to Creator God to forgive us for the past year’s shortcomings. At each point, also, she would reach into the basket and take out a handful of stuff, placing a few pieces in my little hands. Then,we would throw them into the fire and watch until they were consumed. Then, we would move on to the next point and repeat the process until the basket was empty. It would always be empty at the seventh point. How she did it so perfectly, I’ll never really know. Walking alongside my Grandmothers, I learned the traditions, hands-on. From her, and her Mother, and her mother, I learned the ways of healing, forgiveness, and walking the circle in peace.

After the prayers of Atonement were said; and the past was consumed by the fire, it was time to begin the new year with a Feast! The Fall Bread feast to be exact. Grandmother Two Hawks ‘June’ would hand over the empty burden basket to Great Grandmother Howesha Mkwa ‘Belle’ who would then carry it around the table to Great Great Grandmother Howesha Mkwa ‘Cora’. She would then rise, and call everyone to prayer…

‘We ask you God, our Creator, the maker of all that is, all that was, and all that will be…’ She began in our ancient language, lifting the empty basket as she prayed. ‘… to forgive us for our shortcomings, to guide our footsteps and to grant us wisdom for the next year’s journey. Watch over us as we journey into lands we have never seen, and into situations we have never known. Fill us with the fire of your love such that it may consume all that we are and keep our hearts pure before you. We ask you to take all of our burdens and free us to walk the journey you have set for us in peace and in the beauty of the bounty of your creation. We thank you and we live for your glory. Omayne and Aho!

Then, she would gently set the empty basket amid the small baskets already brimming with Corn, Beans, and Squash. As she did so, she commanded the festivities to begin…

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Battlement

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Zia commandeered the fortified battlement the instant he found it. It was strategically located and defensible; all the things he needed in a home.

Right behind him, Xenia saw it and chortled with glee. It was the perfect place to create her designs in secret. She declared it hers.

Zia spun on his heels, anger drawing his face into harsh lines.

Xenia stood her ground, hands on her hips and lips pressed into a thin line.

Blood would have been shed had not Stephen intervened.

WC:85

Author’s note: 13 days and counting down to move. Everything that can be packed is packed. “Reformation” is coming along a few words/scenes at a time. It’s tough for the Aki clones in this new environment on Terra. Their homeworld was a land where people lived in domes for protection from the tempermental environment and the ‘Rain Fever’ that it spawned. Here, on Terra Firma, the biggest threat was that of radiation. They were not afraid of it as they had been genetically created to be virtually immune from it’s affects. Right now, they were settling the land and staking out claims on any ruins they found.

This work of fiction is written for  Friday Fictioneer ‘s 100 word writing challenge hosted weekly by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-fields.  Come on out and join us at: Friday Fictioneer ‘s if you’re up to a good challenge, or even a really great read. These little stories are well worth your time! A Huge thank you goes to  our lovely hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for sharing this week’s photo prompt with us.We’d love to see you around the table.

The Colors Ran: Red part 1

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Image borrowed from Google images.

The Colors Ran: Red

Part 1

Entering into my Great Grandparent’s home, the first thing one noticed was the small Mezuzah on the inside door frame. Along side it on the wall above the light switch was a small basket tucked full of leaves, feathers, branches, and stalks of flowers. Above the door and from the ceiling was hung a small dreamcatcher. Tucked in the corner beside the door was a place for umbrellas and where the American Flag from the front porch rested every night. Across from the door was a wall-length glass doored cupboard containing very old books and relics from all over the world and from days gone by. These were the colors of my childhood.

My Great Grandfather was a veteran of both of the “Great Wars” as he called them. That would be World War One and Two. On occasion, special days, he would speak of the wars. Always, it was with a dreadful calm, barely above a whisper, and filled with an unspeakable emotion. Such are the first memories of my youth, being tucked in his arms with my head on his shoulder. I could hear his heart beating like a drum, his breath moving in and out of his lungs that often rasped like hands flung across the piano’s low keys. These were the sounds of life and living colored with the blood that often tinged his cheeks and nose with a red glow.

Every year, at Passover, was one such occasion when Granpa would speak of the Wars. His stories of World War Two were vivid and disturbing. One could not listen to the sights he saw without a tear and without a prayer. At Passover, his story was one of faith and survival… God’s Providence. Though, I was much to young to understand, he would tell me the story. Every year, he would place the little red cloth in my hands… a symbol for the blood, he called it. With his help, we would drape the Mezuzah with the little cloth, Granpa tying it so it wouldn’t fall in the night. Then, he would pray in a language I did not understand. It was a prayer, he said, that came from the Jewish man he’d saved during the war. They’d been in Hospital in England together and when they parted ways the man gave Granpa the Mezuzah to remember him by. After the prayer, Granpa would tell me the story of the first Passover, how the Angels of Death had passed over the houses of the those who had Lamb’s blood on them. Then, he would carry me into his couch and pull out his well-worn Bible and read the story again.

‘It is not good enough to just read God’s word,’ I can still hear his voice saying. ‘You’ve got to know them here (taps his temple) and here ( pats his chest). Then, then you must use these (holds out his hands) to do what God will ask of you to do.’

My Great Granpa was not a man of many words. The Wars had left him with emphysema making it hard to breath, let alone speak. So, when he did speak, it was just natural to stop what you were doing and to listen to him. Such were the lessons of life passed down. Through memory’s story and deeds.

Time Woven

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Faris sat down before the loom with a frown. Weaving wasn’t something that his generation had been bred for. His generation was bred for military logistics. Still, he looked at the loom as an exercise in how things worked together for the greater good. After all, a single string was so weak that it wouldn’t hold up, but if he wove several together, then it would be strong.

Frown still in place, he picked up the end of the thread and began to warp the loom. It was all a step in learning to survive in the world where they were headed.

 

Author’s Note: The photo above is the current project on my loom, a acrylic scarf. The one below was my first weave, a 74 in. cotton table runner, on a new 24 in Rigid Heddle loom.

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Paradise or Hell?

Author’s Note: I’ve had a hard time getting something written for the deadline, let alone being able to get to inet on the weekends to post. So, this is my humble offering this week… a post nuke view of the valley. Maybe, if I have time, I’ll add more later.

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Found on Google from Flickr

What Pegman Saw, 30 Sept 2018 – Douro Valley, Portugal

wc: 70

I paused, squinting and looking out over the valley. As memory served, the rows of greenery should be grape vines, and it should be the season of harvest. Shouldn’t it? Did it really matter? Well, no, not in the least. The grapes would be poisoned from the fallout. I sighed.

‘A valley of paradise gone to hell.’ I muttered, stepping forward.

 

 

 

Survivors United

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PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

Survivor United

‘Hello. My designation is T56.’ Takarna hadn’t used her designation since the war. Yet, here and now, it was appropriate. ‘I am a survivor of Relocation Camp Jihansu. I was a Boiler.’

‘All is forgiven.’ The traditional response echoed in the hall where they had gathered.

‘Hello. My designation is Cutter.’ Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d only come to this forsaken meeting to appease Takarna. ‘I am a survivor of Jihansu. That’s all I’m gonna say.’

‘All is forgiven.’ Echoed again.

‘Doubtful.’ Charles downed his coffee in one gulp before rising to get another. ‘Very kelted doubtful.’

wc: 101 with title

This work of fiction is written for  Friday Fictioneer ‘s 100 word writing challenge hosted weekly by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-fields.  Come on out and join us at: Friday Fictioneer ‘s if you’re up to a good challenge, or even a really great read. These little stories are well worth your time! A Huge thank you goes to  Yvette Prior for sharing this week’s photo prompt with us.We’d love to see you around the table.

Balanced

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

Balanced

Floating as we

amid the ethereal

trapped, spinning

ying to yang

love bonds

amid terror

each clinging

desperate

we float

forgiveness

foreign as grace

a vast pool

drifting, spinning

ying to yang

love balanced

we float.

 

Bear Starfire McQuinn

21 Sept 2018

Author’s Note: It has been an awesome week here. Last Friday was my birthday. I am so thankful for all your well wishes. Saturday, Hubby asked me to take him to the “Candy Store” (ham radio store) up in Ohio. I readily agreed as there is a craft store nearby and I needed some fixatif and paper. So, off we went. Unbeknownst to me, it was PetSmart’s annual National Pet Adoption day. I went in to get some puppy loves, and found a little kitten I instantly fell in love with. Adoption fee was an affordable $10, spay/nuet included as well as first vaccines, feline luke tests, etc. We filled out application, and we came home with little Huey “Trip” Tripper…  He is a rescue from Hurricane Florence, got out just before the storm. Took a heli ride all the way to Ohio, hence the name Huey. We renamed him Tripper “Trip” to go along with our Maryjane – pun intended. hehe! Needless to say, it’s been a long week…I’d forgotten what middle of the night feedings could be like. Yawn… Anyway, here’s a pic of our little boy….

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Huey “Trip” Tripper, age 6 wks app.; 1 lb 15 oz.

 

This work of fiction is written for  Friday Fictioneer ‘s 100 word writing challenge hosted weekly by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-fields.  Come on out and join us at: Friday Fictioneer ‘s if you’re up to a good challenge, or even a really great read. These little stories are well worth your time! A Huge thank you goes to  Dale Rogerson  for sharing this week’s photo prompt with us.We’d love to see you around the table.