Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?
Category Alastair’s Photo Fiction
Vitality – Alastair’s Photo Fiction
Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by his black and white image below. Why not take part? And visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…
*****
– Vitality –
We all think we have time. The things that seem important, take precedence – the work commitments, the house, the car, the status, the stuff. In acquiring all these things, we forget to notice that time is passing. We look at ourselves in the mirror, see the clothes that don’t quite work, the mascara that clumps no matter what brand we buy, that piece of hair that just won’t sit right. We buy unctions and sprays and shave and wax and primp and preen – the outside becomes who we are.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tock.
Enjoy the meaningful things. Family. Friends. Sunsets. Animals. Children. Talking until the moon is fat. Laughing. Crying. Loving. Drinking a good glass of wine. Doing something that scares you. Doing something you love. Dancing on the beach. Watching the fog roll over the moors. Listening to your favourite music until you can’t bear it any more.
Be vital.
Copyright Kattermonran
Tainted – Alastair’s Photo Fiction
I seem to be hungry right now, and not just for food. I’m hungry for external inspiration for short pieces of writing. It’s a good job that Alastair’s Photo Fiction is here to curb the gnawing!
Alastair is both a writer and a photographer, so the image he provides each week as inspiration is also one of his own – visit his photography and writing blog to take a look!
Here is my offering this week, inspired by Alastair’s black and white image below. Why not take part?
*****
Tainted
It had been her dream to live here. As a child she had imagined standing at the edge of the cliff, her grown-up self silhouetted by a setting sun, shawl wrapped tightly against the cool breeze. Solitary, not lonely.
Yet, she had been careless as she wove her dreams, crafting her future as she slept. In her innocence, she had forgotten to wish for pristine oceans, perfectly balanced as nature intended. Now, as the waters boiled far below, whipped by the winds of an approaching storm, their sterility broke her. The last whale had beached itself in desperation two nights ago, blanched and blistered by the chemical seas. She would never dip her toe and shriek at the cold, never run ecstatically through the surf, never dive into the white horses crashing on the silvered sand.
She had waited for perfection. Now, everything was tainted.
Copyright – Kattermonran
Freya Writes... 