Photo prompt round-up – Empty #writephoto

The photo for this week’s prompt was taken early one morning as we took the long way north for one of the Silent Eye’s Living Land weekends in Ilkley last year. For some reason, the route we had chosen headed far south and west before heading north and east… and the adventures of the road spanned a number of blog posts in the telling. We had visited Marlborough, where we had acquired a pair of staffs. Walked with the great stones of Avebury and seen the White Horse of Hackpen Hill. We had overnighted in Worcester, then left before dawn, following the back roads northwards to avoid the rush hour traffic, stopping wherever the land seemed to want us to stop. Heading down a narrow lane, we found a pretty churchyard that gave on to fields. The misty September morning was suffused with gold and offered a moment of sheer magic as an alternative to attempting to traverse Birmingham. And all that was before the workshop. The road home was just as weird and wonderful. There is much to be said for taking the longest road.

More wonderful entries this week. Thank you to everyone who took part. Please click on the links below to visit all the posts and leave a comment for the author! A new prompt will be published later today and I will reblog as many as I can through the week as they come in… but given the volume of entries we are getting now, that will not be all of them. All contributions will be featured in the round-up on Thursday.

The vagaries of WordPress mean that occasionally a pingback won’t get through. If you have written a piece for this week’s challenge and it does not appear below, please leave a link in the comments and I will add it to the list.

Come and join in!

 writephoto

Empty

Barren after the harvest

Believing the illusion

We see emptiness

Yet tomorrow’s seeds are sown

By the hand of yesterday

*

Mist clouds our vision

Walking a shadowed landscape

Haunted by longing

We forget such shades are light

Interrupted by presence

*

Infinite distance

Imagined separation

Calls the heart onward

When the seeker’s quest begins

The longest road leads homewards

*

Many thanks to this weeks contributors:

Reinventions by Reena

Sarah at fmme writes poems

Trent P. McDonald

Helen Jones at Journey to Ambeth

Sisyphus at Of Glass and Paper

Craig Towsley

Lady Lee Manila

Jane Dougherty Writes

pensitivity101

Ritu Bhathal at But I Smile Anyway

Michael at Morpeth Road

Willow at willowdot21

Isabel Caves

Pamela Morse at mermaidcamp

Hayley at The Story Files

Kim at Writing in North Norfolk

The Urban Spaceman

Diana Wallace Peach at Myths of the Mirror

Ellen Best

Neel Anil Panicker

Raymond Roy

Bernadette at  Haddon Musings

Barb Taub

Stuart France

Geoff Le Pard at Tangental

Joelle LeGendre at Two on a Rant

Robbie Cheadle

Sangbad at Thoughts of Words

Carl Bystrom

Luccia Gray from Rereading Jane Eyre

Sarah Brentyn of Lemon Shark Reef

Emma Hyde

Hugh Roberts of Hugh’s Views and News

 

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Notes from a small dog – War and peace

Sparrows, she said.  Ha! If only…

It’s been peaceful since we moved here. Apart from the cows and the postman… and a few odd visitors like the hedgehog. I was really starting to feel I could relax a bit. She obviously doesn’t need as much protecting here.

For a start, I don’t have all those bedrooms to worry about… in fact, no upstairs at all! It took me a while to work that one out, ’cause there is an upstairs. We live in a house with an upstairs… but that isn’t our house. She calls it a flat, because it is. And no-one walks down our little street… so I don’t need to bark so much.

We did have a problem with sparrows last year, but I sorted them out. They wanted to nest in the roof and one cock-sparrow would sit there and look at me, chirping, all day! I was obliged to have words with him about that…till he got a missus and they had babies. He was too busy then.

“It’s only a sparrow, girlie!” she kept saying. “I like sparrows.” Well, so she might…but she just doesn’t seem to understand. I am just doing my duty, keeping her safe. You never know…especially with sparrows…

It started with just one at the other place too…then there were forty and more, all living in the honeysuckle hedge! It was all I could do to keep up! She said I was a daft dog and that one or forty didn’t matter…they were all nice. She has some weird tastes that two-legs of mine. The racket those birds made, twittering about nests, worms and sunrises every morning! It’s not as if they are capable of holding an interesting conversation. It was a real noise! “…but I like it,” she says. And then, as soon as I barked at them to ask them to keep it down, “Shh,” she says. Inconsistent, that’s what she is…

But this year, we have trouble. I looked up at the window of the upstairs flat….that’s when I saw it. Well, straight away, I went into protecting mode… after all, she was just inside the door! “Shh,” she says, “it’s just a sparrow.” She obviously wasn’t paying attention. She knows my sparrow bark. And that wasn’t it.

I was obliged to resort to The Growl… the low growl that says there is a real threat. “What’s up, whirly girl?” she says…and she finally came out to have a look.

A cat. That’s what’s ‘up’. Up there, in the window above ours, looking down, all supersillyous snarky. It didn’t even move. Just looked at me. When did that arrive? It wasn’t there before… I would definitely have noticed.

Now it looks at me every day. They leave the blind up so it can look out. It sits there, all black and white, looking really pleased with itself. And she says I have to learn to get along with it! It’s bad enough having the little dog next door that won’t speak. To be fair, we can’t see each other over the fence. I’ve tried, but it must be too small to get its paws on the fence…and as we are both well-mannered, we can’t really speak till we’ve been introduced.

Hrmph. She seems to find the idea of me being well-mannered funny for some reason. There’s no call for that amount of laughter…

I tell you, she just doesn’t understand me.

So any way, that’s how things stand. A stand-off. I growl, it smirks. Unless Upstairs Cat gets a cat-flap. Then things might get interesting…

But she says I have to live and let live… and that just because Upstairs Cat is different from me, it doesn’t mean it isn’t doing its job. She says we should make friends! She says that even if it’s different it is still loved by its two-legses and that I have to behave.

I’ve said it before…she has some weird ideas… Me? Behave?

Ah well, she’s always been an optimist 😉

Much love,

Ani xxx

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Considering White-Skunk II… Stuart France

*

Winged creatures are almost universally regarded as symbols of spirituality.

Is there any evidence to regard them as such in this tale?

Bald-Eagle has fire.

Meadow-Lark has far sight.

Rice-Bird can play dead.

Not a bad ‘trawl’.

*

*

On his way back to the lodge to re-instate ‘natural law’, Bald-Eagle creates a valley with his wings.

This valley alerts Skunk to Bald-Eagle’s cognisance of his ruse.

It is tempting to regard the rest of the action of the story as taking place within this ‘wing-formed’ valley.

*

Continue reading here

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Transient #midnighthaiku

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Left for Dead By Raymond Roy: #writephoto

Body aching, covered in dirt, like I had died, was buried, dug back up then ran over me with a truck.

Trying to get my bearings I look across the Idaho landscape, not a soul in site with the exception of a tractor pulling a trailer in the distance.

A brisk breeze loosens some of the dirt packed in my oversized ears.

What the hell happened? Reminiscent of what Mum used to say, “your ears are so dirty you could grow potatoes in there”, Surprised none got in my mouth.

Getting to my feet I brush my white gloves off put on my black hat, and look down to see my still surprisingly clean starched blue trousers are none the worse for wear. I start making my way down the wheel worn grass trail.

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Guest author: Barb Taub – That time we were kidnapped in #India…#travel #humor

There are writers whose work has a certain predictability about it. My guest today is one of them. I have learned to put down the coffee and place breakable objects at a safe distance when a post from Barb Taub comes up. It is very hard to drink coffee and laugh at the same time without redecorating the desk… Here Barb shares part of her latest adventure in India, with Jaya and Janine, who were her roommates at the University of Chicago forty years ago and who have remained close friends ever since…


Cauvery Handicrafts store, Bangalore [image credit: unless otherwise noted, all images (c) Jayalakshmi Ayyer & Janine Smith 2017, all rights reserved]

Love is a promise, love is a souvenir, once given never forgotten, never let it disappear. —John Lennon

My family relies on a few basic sources for spiritual guidance—God, NewsHour on PBS, and the Beatles. So if John Lennon says love=a souvenir, you’d better believe I won’t be returning empty-handed.

According to Merriam-Webster, a souvenir is ‘something that serves as a reminder’. As our India trip drew to a close last month, we could have used a reminder to buy souvenirs. We started one of our trip’s last days with the realization we’d have to scrap the dozens of things we had not yet seen in Bangalore in favor of the souvenirs for family and friends that we didn’t dare return home without**.

[**full-disclosure: it’s not that I hadn’t bought anything on the whole trip. It’s just that by an amazing coincidence, everything I’d bought so far was somehow sized for my one-year-old grandchild…]

We decided to work up to the souvenir shopping with visits to a pair of ancient temples in the heart of Bangalore. Often called the Silicon Valley of India, Bangalore’s explosive growth has left it a traffic nightmare worthy of its namesake, so Janine and I were delighted when Jaya decided our best travel option was auto-rickshaw.

The first step of auto-rickshaw travel is usually for several drivers to refuse to take us. Jaya insists this is nothing personal, but when a driver who is sitting in the back of his little vehicle reading a paper takes one look at you and declines to budge, you start to wonder. The next several drivers in line might then demand payment premiums many times their meter, while Jaya cheerfully expostulates, bargains, and pretends to walk away. Finally, for no particular reason that we could ever tell, Jaya and a driver would come to an agreement and the three of us would climb aboard.

In direct defiance of the laws of physics, we fit three chubby tourists in an auto-rickshaw designed for two... [image credit: all images (c) Jayalakshmi Ayyer & Janine Smith 2017, all rights reserved]

In direct defiance of the laws of physics, we fit three chubby tourists in an auto-rickshaw designed for two…

Actually getting into the vehicle is more complicated than it sounds. We tried several permutations, but between the fact that we are three less-than-svelte ladies and that my recent bout of illnesses left me temporarily deaf in one ear, we not only had to wriggle three generous bottoms onto a seat designed for two, but we had to do it so that my working ear was always to the right of both Jaya and Janine. Eventually, we worked out a jigsaw system for optimal tush-placement that defied the laws of physics but allowed Jaya to give in to our incessant demands for more auto-rickshaw trips. And of course, it made it easier for us to be kidnapped.

The day started out fabulously with visits to two ancient temples. Throughout this trip, I’d been fascinated with the serenity and majesty of the many (usually large) sculptures of the bull deity Nandi, companion to the god Shiva. So our first stop was the Bull Temple (Dodda Basavana Gudi).

Rooftop decoration shows Lord Shiva, his consort Parvati, and at their feet, the bull deity Nandi. Bull Temple complex, Bangalore

The temple itself was built in 1537 by Kempe Gowda, the chieftain who founded Bangalore. According to legend, though, the massive 15-foot tall by 20-foot long statue of Nandi was originally a tiny one that appeared and then grew on its own. When it was so large that it threatened the surrounding temple, worried locals prayed to Shiva for help. A trident (symbol of Shiva) which appeared near the feet of the bull was placed on his head to prevent further expansion. Grateful worshippers regularly adorn Nandi with several types of decorations, from flowers to 100 kilos of butter (246 lbs).

Nandi, Bull companion to the god Shiva, Bull Temple, Bangalore

From there we went across the street to visit the Ganesh temple, home to another massive statue, this time of the elephant-headed god. In addition to regular decorations, the idol is treated to a cream coating with gold and jeweled accents on special occasions.

The massive black stone statue in the Dodda Ganesha temple is frequently covered with over a hundred pounds of candy coat, creating jewels, gold lace, and gorgeous decorations.

We had been planning to visit the magnificent Bangalore Palace, but instead opted for a walk through the shaded green paths of the Lalbagh Gardens. The enormous India Day flower show had just ended, but there were still a few exhibits yet to be dismantled.

Lalbagh Gardens flower show still had a few exhibits selfie-ops available [Image credit: DaijiWorld.com]

It’s hard to believe that it was barely lunch time, and we hadn’t even been kidnapped yet. Jaya spotted a promising restaurant, and all we had to do was cross eight lanes of honking Bangalore traffic. There was a time when that would have daunted us, but we’ve crossed Mumbai streets. And lived. Jaya lifted a hand, stared down a few (hundred) vehicles and then swanned across, a latter day Moses parting the seas of Bangalore traffic, with Janine and I trailing behind to the promised land—in this case, the curd rice and delicious accompaniments of the Swathi Deluxe restaurant.

We emerged from the restaurant and began the process of being refused rides by the line of auto-rickshaw drivers. Jaya reached agreement with one and we were still climbing into our usual positions as the driver swung into Bangalore traffic. Only…something was wrong. My substantial backside was completely hanging out the side window, probably doing irreparable damage to US/Indian relations, while Janine swung precariously from the opposite side and Jaya was mashed forward against the driver. “STOOOPPPP!” Jaya’s voice was drowned by our screams but the driver got the message. He pulled over and we climbed out to find ourselves several blocks from the auto-rickshaw queue.

As we started to walk back, Jaya explained that there were a few of these antique auto-rickshaws still on the road, and they’d been designed for single passengers. To our surprise and delight, just then an auto-rickshaw pulled up next to us and the driver actually offered us a ride. Checking only to make sure that it was one of the relatively spacious newer versions, we climbed aboard. Jaya told the driver that we wanted to go to the government-run Cauvery Handicrafts store, one of her favorites when she lived in Bangalore some years back.

The driver assured her that he knew exactly where to go and off we went. And went. And went… Janine and I were, of course, delighted to be in another auto-rickshaw, but as the ride went on Jaya looked concerned, especially when she nudged us and pointed to the meter, which was not moving. When the driver offered to wait for us at the store at no charge, Janine and I were sure he was the nicest driver we’d had yet. Jaya looked more worried.

Finally, he pulled up to a small shop on a deserted street and announced that we were there. Jaya seemed stunned. “This isn’t the right shop. Where are we?”

The driver broke into a flood of explanation, which Jaya translated. “He says it IS the government shop. It moved.”

We looked around. Several men had come from the shop and were waving us inside. Jaya was furious. But to my surprise, she said we should at least look around. Apparently, in India being kidnapped and taken to an unknown location was no reason to miss out on a potential bargain. Inside were the usual walls of the usual saris, staffed by young women in matching saris. There were a couple of carved wooden items, the odd sandalwood box, and some bits of jewelry. Jaya looked more and more angry, although I think it was more that there weren’t any bargains than the fact that we’d been kidnapped.

Then I spotted the rugs.

We’ve just moved into a new (very old) house with naked floors, so I’d been thinking about rug purchases. I drifted over to the rug room, and suddenly it was full of young men who leaped to unroll any rug I even glanced at. An older man rattled off each rug’s pedigree—the number of years some member of his family had spent individually tying about a gazillion knots per square inch, the fact that the rug would sell for tens of thousands back in the UK but he was willing to sacrifice it for a tiny fraction of that. As proof, he held out a handwritten ledger listing the numerous delighted customers from the UK who had purchased his rugs (presumably in case I knew any of them). Plus, because of the store’s special arrangement with the Indian and British governments, there would be absolutely no duty charge. Or tax. Or shipping…

Chairs miraculously appeared and we were ushered toward them. Tea and coffee were offered. Jaya moaned. I could just see the thought bubble over her head. “Have I taught you nothing?”

It was true. I knew that the second the vendor had my tush in a chair, he owned me. If he went for the “special suitcase” of items only brought out because of Madam’s obvious taste and discernment—“No cost for looking, Madam”—my wallet would be doomed. If I drank his tea, he’d probably own a few of my offspring as well.

I praised the beauty of his rugs, but confessed that I needed larger, room-sized versions. “In blue,” I added as I edged toward the door. “I have to have blue.” I never made it.

“Five minutes Madam. I will fetch larger rugs from warehouse.”

“Blue?” I made one last attempt. “Because I’m really only interested in the blue ones.”

Jaya threw me under the bus. “You’ve been talking about those rugs for two years. You might as well wait the five minutes.”

We sat in the chairs staring at all the (not large/not blue) rugs which the helpers continued to fling out in front of us. Each time I politely agreed that the rug would indeed have been a miracle of perfection if it was …you know, large. And blue. The clocked ticked past the five minute window. Ten minutes. I stood up gratefully, announcing that we really had to be going, and that I’d take his card along. We headed out to the street, only to find that our auto-rickshaw driver/kidnapper had disappeared.

Just as we were about to head off in search of another ride, our driver zoomed up carrying the promised warehouse rugs. From their conversation, Jaya said it was clear that he was related to the shop owner, and in for a cut of anything we bought. We all trooped back into the rug room and the owner triumphantly unrolled the delivered rugs. Nobody seemed surprised when not one of them was even the least bit blue.

We again attempted to escape, while the uniform-sari shop assistants flung down saris along our path and one of the rug-unrollers followed us with handfuls of jewelry.

We piled into the kidnapper’s auto-rickshaw, while Jaya exchanged stern words with the driver. An argument ensued, but he was no match for her. Soon we were chugging along in Bangalore traffic again. Then the driver cheerfully announced that he was taking us to another, even better store where we would be very happy and he would get free gas vouchers.

More argument.

“We should make a break for it,” Janine whispered. “Jump out at the next light.”

I would be the last one out, so I thought about her plan. Three older ladies hopping down in the middle of Bangalore freeway traffic and making it across without getting arrested or killed? Even with our banked karma from the two morning temple visits, it couldn’t possibly end well. Of course, the meter still hadn’t moved, so he couldn’t claim we owed him anything. I nodded. “I’m in.”

Jaya was made of sterner stuff. Between dire threats and granny-gravitas, she bullied him into turning around and taking us to the real government store.

As we pulled up to the huge old storefront of the Cauvery Handicrafts government store, the dejected driver made one more attempt to extort more money, but we could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He meekly accepted the notes Jaya offered, and sped off looking for other tourists to kidnap. We entered the store.

Need a bobble-head guru souvenir? Check.

And what a store! Two enormous floors and a mezzanine level were stacked to the ceiling with handcrafted items from across India. The carved sandalwood that the local state of Karnatica was so famous for took up one entire back wall. Smiling clerks seemed equally happy to let us browse, or to pull out any items that caught our eye. From the mezzanine, a sari-length of dark blue silk-cotton embroidered with gold just begged to become curtains in our new place. A charming carving of a cheerful Ganesh beckoned as well.

Janine and Jaya were also having a terrific time browsing and loading up with souvenirs. As with other government shops, half the entertainment was in the buying process. Making a choice from a huge assortment of wares is just the first step. A clerk then takes the item to a packaging desk and gives you a copiously-stamped receipt. You take your receipt to the till, where it’s adorned with much additional stamping. Finally, the receipt is taking to the package desk and your purchase is handed over—with benefit of additional stampage of course.

Exhausted, we finally staggered out of the Cauvery Handicrafts in search of our usual afternoon Chai, only to find ourselves in front of a familiar logo.

Frankly, this wasn’t nearly as puzzling as spotting the McDonalds drive-thru in a country which doesn’t allow beef.

But we were spared the Mermaid when Jaya’s wonderful daughter-in-law called to say she was trying a new chat dish. What better end to a day of temples, kidnapping, souvenirs and India?

Chat: India’s answer to tapas— small plate big flavor late afternoon snackage. My latest obsession.


Want more India adventure? Check out our first book, Do Not Wash Hands In Plates.

Do Not Wash Hands in Plates

Elephant Frenzy, Parathas, Temples, Palaces, Monkeys, and the Kindness of Indian Strangers.

The story of three women eating our way across India in search of adventure, elephants, temples, palaces, western toilets, monkeys, the perfect paratha…and the kindness of Indian strangers.


Find and follow Barb Taub

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About the author

In halcyon days BC (before children), Barb Taub wrote a humor column for several Midwest newspapers. With the arrival of Child #4, she veered toward the dark side and an HR career. Following a daring daytime escape to England, she’s lived in a medieval castle and a hobbit house with her prince-of-a-guy and the World’s Most Spoiled AussieDog. Now all her days are Saturdays, and she spends them consulting with her occasional co-author/daughter on Marvel heroes, Null City, and translating from British to American.


Find all Barb’s books on Amazon

Click the titles or images


One Way Fare

Book 1 in award-winning author and humorist Barb Taub’s acclaimed paranormal Null City series!

A thrilling chase through time and space, Null City is only a Metro ride away, littered with slick rock stars, stoic warriors, and Nephilim – the descendants of angels.
Superpowers suck. If you just want to live a normal life, Null City is only a Metro ride away. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, become parents, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes.
Null City is the only sanctuary for Gaby Parker and Leila Rice, two young women confronting cataclysmic forces waging an unseen war between Heaven and Hell. Gaby and her younger brother and sister are already targets in the war that cost their parents’ lives. Should they forsake the powers that complete their souls and flee to Null City? Meanwhile, Leila has inherited a French chateau, a mysterious legacy, and a prophecy that she will end the world. Gaby and Leila become catalysts for the founding and survival of Null City. It just would have been nice if someone told them the angels were all on the other side.


Don’t Touch

Hope flares each morning in the tiny flash of a second before Lette touches that first thing. And destroys it.
Her online journal spans a decade, beginning with the day a thirteen-year-old inherits an extreme form of the family “gift.” Every day whatever she touches converts into something new: bunnies, bubbles, bombs, and everything in between.
Lette’s search for a cure leads her to Stefan, whose fairy-tale looks hide a monstrous legacy, and to Rag, an arrogant, crabby ex-angel with boundary issues. The three face an army led by a monster who feeds on children’s fear. But it’s their own inner demons they must defeat first.



Tales from Null City

Just for the Spell of It
Liam is an ungodly soccer-playing card sharp on a mission from God. Eirie is a beautiful punk fairy princess with her own daytime radio talk show. They’ve worked cases for the Accords Agency before, but with war between realms looming and her baby sister as the bargaining chip, partnering just got personal.
Payback is a Witch
Claire Danielsen is a young witch whose goddess is house cat of unusual size. Peter Oshiro is a Warden policing a delicate truce between those who are human and those who… aren’t.
It just would have been nice if someone told them the angels were all on the other side.


Round Trip Fare

Is it wrong that shooting people is just so much easier than making decisions? Carey wonders—and not for the first time. But the Agency claims this will be an easy one. A quick pickup of a missing teen and she won’t even have to shoot anybody. Probably.
Carey knows superpowers suck, her own included. From childhood she’s only had two options. She can take the Metro train to Null City and a normal life. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes. Or she can master the powers of her warrior gift and fight a war she can’t win, in a world where she never learned how to lose.
And then there is…him. For the past two months, a dark stranger has persistently edged his way onto the mental game board behind her eyelids. Well, whatever trouble he’s selling, Carey Parker is not buying. Her to-do list is already long enough: find her brother and sister, rescue her roommate, save Null City, and castrate her ex-boyfriend. Preferably with a dull-edged garden tool. A rusty one.
She just has a few details to work out first. Her parents have been killed, her brother and sister targeted, and the newest leader of the angels trying to destroy Null City might be the one person she loves most in the world. And her sexy new partner’s gift lets him predict deaths. Hers.


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A mysterious discovery by Neel Anil Panicker #writephoto

Anita loved her early morning walks. It helped that her house was the last abutting the forested area that stretched out over more than a few acres and beyond leading up to the river. She would wake up at the crack of dawn, much before her parents or even her immediate neighbours, the Sharmas’, whose daughter Pia and she were best pals at high school.

Sunday morning was no different and by the time she had unlocked the front gates and stepped off into the wilderness, the first signs of dawn were threatening to pierce through the leafy spread in the sky. A slight nip in the air, though, forced her to hurriedly tuck her hands inside her jacket pockets.

She walked through the rocky landscape, occasionally taking long strides, at times even making a quick dash uphill and then resting herself atop a hard rock.

Continue reading here

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