Di shows us that a little local knowledge can go a long way to avoiding disaster over at pensitivity101
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – BRIDGE prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a red and white Vertical Lift Bridgecrossing an expanse of water.
Bridge – Image by KL Caley
Sam looked on as they put the finishing touches to the bridge. It had been erected in record time and would be an alternative to travelling some ten miles downriver. He was joined by an elderly man out for the day on his bicycle who stopped to chat. ‘Nice lookin’ bridge,’ he said. ‘Thanks!’ Sam replied. ‘You design it?’
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – BANDSTAND prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green bandstand in a park. Nearby is a long building with windows overlooking the bandstand.
Band Stand Image by KL Caley
You could hear the squeal of laughter as the children ran round and round the bandstand. In a few hours the grass surrounding the bandstand would be filled with checkered blankets laid out with wine and cheese.
A look back on the bandstand of days gone by from pensitivity101
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – BANDSTAND prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green bandstand in a park. Nearby is a long building with windows overlooking the bandstand.
Band Stand Image by KL Caley
They say you cannot go back, that places are never the same as we remember them. How very true, but the memories are always there.
In my younger days, there was a bandstand in the park which was in use every weekend throughout the Summer. Flanked by aromatic flower beds in riotous colour, you could hire a deckchair for an hour or so to sit and listen to the band as they played. It was a respite for parents too as their kids could paddle safely in the little stream that ran alongside, one which was carefully maintained and never deeper that a few inches. Paper sail boats were popular, most handmade from a scrap of wood, a stick for a mast and a paper napkin.
There is something about the sound of a brass band, be it of the Salvation Army, armed forces, or even a school concert. The music is in a class of its own, even the most melancholy of ballads touches your soul, makes your skin tingle, and gets into your heart, raising your spirits. Or at least it does for me.
Cassidy has severe stage fright. Can Brady save her special performance?
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – BANDSTAND prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green bandstand in a park. Nearby is a long building with windows overlooking the bandstand.
Band Stand Image by KL Caley
“Just think, in two days this park will be buzzing with people all here to listen to you perform,” Brady said with a glance at the traditional, hexagonal park bandstand beneath the trees on the wide lawns.
“I can’t do it,” Cassidy took a deep shaky breath and turned away from the performing place. She gathered her curls of auburn hair over her right shoulder and began to walk away.
“Why? I’m so excited to watch you perform. I want to feel the pride as everybody cheers for the musical princess I love.” Brady stopped her leaving by interlinking his fingers in hers and gently turning her to face him.
“I’m scared, Brady. I’ve never performed in front of anyone like that before.”
“That’s a natural feeling. You’re such a wonderful performer your musical soul is indigenous to that stage. I know once you begin you’ll relax and love every second of your performance.”
Cassidy shook her head, “I’m sorry, I won’t be coming.”
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – BANDSTAND prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a green bandstand in a park. Nearby is a long building with windows overlooking the bandstand.
Band Stand Image by KL Caley
Cathy and her two boys were having a great time. The walk in the park, followed by hotdogs from the vendor near the gates had put both the boys in a boisterous mood. They were running, joking, and laughing with real pleasure.
Cathy was glad that they had come out today despite the prediction of rain. After her husband, Rob had passed away at the beginning of the year, they seldom went out or had fun. It was time to normalize their life.
A beautiful poetic entry with a focus on reflections by Musing in the sun
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – Portal prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a puddle with leaves and trees reflected on the surface.
Portal – Image by Rebecca M. Douglass
What hope grows in the throats of reflected trees, wondrous wooded dreams pooled together like a scarf spooled down the back of a child, not worried where it may wind up?
The return of Morgarna by willowdot21. With a dodgy portal not doing what it should, what’s going to happen to Morgarna next? I can’t wait to find out.
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – Portal prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a puddle with leaves and trees reflected on the surface.
Portal – Image by Rebecca M. Douglass
Last week we saw Morgarna jump into the anomaly to return to the lab, after successfully dealing with Dr De’arth……
Except it wasn’t the lab! Morgarna had the distinct feeing she had wet herself. Looking down she found herself sitting in a large puddle in a forest, somewhere. This was so odd the backward journey always ended up in the lab. Something had gone wrong she thought to herself. This trip was going from the ridiculous to the totally mad. Just as Morgarna was struggling to get feet, her newly mended hip started hurting her. As she was muttering a soothing spell she hear the sound of approaching horses. The way the day was going Morgana decided it would be best to hide until she found out where and when she was.
A time travel tale with an Olympics/Paralympics backdrop brought to you by masonsmenagerie.
Thank you so much for taking part in #Writephoto – Portal prompt.
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a puddle with leaves and trees reflected on the surface.
Portal – Image by Rebecca M. Douglass
The lump in his throat, the agony, the wretched angst, the pain forced the tears from his eyes. He barely felt his feet pounding through the wet sand on the desolate beach as he fled the city.
The rain plastering his hair and soaked his clothes through to the skin. The deluge seemed like a fitting punishment.
Everyone had been cheering him on, counting on him to win and he failed. The marathon race played over and over in his mind as he jogged along the shoreline. He’d been in the lead for most of the way and then Jordan snuck up and stole his victory.
Allie had been delighted that he’d won the silver medal. She was his beautiful girlfriend and now he couldn’t face her. You don’t win the silver, you lose gold. The look of disappointment worn by everybody at the finish line ran deep into his consciousness — hammered away at his mind like a jeering bully.
