Crossing Over (flash fiction)

The old man lay on his death bed waiting for his last breath. Only his wife of sixty years remained with him in this lonely hour.

“We have had a great life together,” Catherine whispered to him as his eyes opened and then closed.

The old man half smiled and tried to nod his head.

“I will miss you my dear, but your time has come to cross over.”

Catherine’s mind wandered as she contemplated his passing…

“Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.”

“As your soul becomes one with the universe, the thought of beginnings and endings will be no more. The spirit of creation will carry you into the joy of your existence; beyond all that you could ask or think!”

His breathing became more shallow. She held his hand, as John drew his last breath.

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, we are doing Prosery (flash fiction of exactly 144 words). Merril has chosen a line from Jo Harjo’s “A Map to the Next World.” The line must be included in our story.

The line is: “Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.”

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com then click on the Mr. Linkey box to read more…

Rings and Wrinkles

“When you split your own wood, it warms your twice!”

I loved taking the maul and lifting it back over my head, bring it down hard enough to make the wood fly in both directions. I split my own firewood for many years, until one day I ended up with two ruptured discs. We had a fireplace insert wood stove that provide a lot of good heat from that wood. It is true what they say, “When you split your own wood, it warms your twice!” After my back surgery, I got smart and purchased a used wood splitter which saved my back and worked very well.

Cutting through the tree trunks with a chainsaw was exciting to me. I never knew what I would fine inside. Narrow rings and wide rings revealed dry years and wet years. Counting the rings gave me an idea how old the tree might be. Sometimes there were hollow rotten spaces, filled with termites or ants, that showed the tree was not in the best of health. Wood is a great renewable resource, when trees are replanted and managed for the future.

Rings left in a tree

Like wrinkles on our faces

Nature’s History Book

How old do you think this oak tree might have been?!

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Young Love

Remember the days of young love

Excitement knowing no bounds

Charged thrill of being together

Your smile

Your skin soft to the touch

Fingers like an artist

Gently gliding like brushes filled with love

Filling my canvas with life and color

Remember the days of young love and laughter

Of waves crashing over us

Carrying us to shore

Resting only for a moment in the sand

Wading out to ride the next crest

Hoping this will be the big one

Now it’s time for the younger ones

Filled with the zest of life

To repeat the cycle of love that knows no bounds

Always looking for the next big wave

Painting their canvas with the color of Love

Photo; Dwight L. Roth

I am posting this on d’Verse open link night. Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Honey-makers

Today we had lunch and a great visit with some old friends. Dan enjoys beekeeping in his back yard. He built the hive tower from plans he found on the internet. He had some difficulty this spring with the hive swarming up into a tree, but he was finally able to coax them back into the hive. He is hoping they will continue to make honey as seen through the glass window. Each layer has a glass window so he can monitor their progress.

Pure natural sweetness

Organic gold stored in wax

We take a quick peek

Dan and his Bee Hive
Arrival and departure gate

Making Honey Combs

Bee Hives

IPhone Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Squeezed

She wound herself around the wounds of his heart

so tightly he could not breath.

In time,

she squeezed the life out of him,

leaving wounds

gaping in the sunlight.

The relationship was not symbiotic;

rather, symptomatic

of wounds and insecurities

all her own.

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today is Quadrille Monday at d’Verse Poets Pub. Lillian asked us to write a Quadrille (44 Words) using the word wound. Being a homophone, she challenged us further to use both meanings in our poem.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Beyond Brokenness

Broken

What do you see when something is broken

An object to discard

Or an object restored

Half-full or half-empty

Perspective is everything

Affects all of life

We all become broken

At some time in our life

Thinking we are beyond repair

But God sees us otherwise

And restores us with his grace

His perspective

His Love

Are always there

We always have our place

Way beyond

What we could ask or think

Jose Ramirez – 1937

Photos & Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Hatched

A Killdeer is such a well adapted bird. She make her nest on the ground in a gravely area, where her speckled eggs blend in so well you cannot see them at first glance. In my experience coming across a Killdeer nest, the mother leaves the nest and attempts to draw my attention. She runs a short distance and calls, waiting for me to follow her away from her nest. I am always amazed that she can hatch her brood among the stones.

Birthed in stones they sit

Fledglings wait for mother’s food

Blending perfectly

Hiding from you in plain sight

Mother’s cries draw you away

These wonderful photos were posted on my Facebook page today, and I am grateful to Janette Sharp for allowing me to use them in my post.

Our Walls

Walls built with stones // mortar of memories

Locking tightly together each painful reality

Stacking // cementing them tightly in place

Till the soul is hidden without even a trace

Dungeon of doom condemning the soul

Cold place of solitude where no one can dwell

A roof on top keeps out the light

Beautiful on the outside; but dark in the heart

Protected // guarded from any more pain

Windows boarded up to keep out the rain

Though years have gone by, the walls still close in

Creating a chasm the soul cannot swim

A castle on the hill of life with walls strong and tall

No windows // no drawbridge // no one comes to call

A lifetime of memories too painful to tell

A soul locked in memories

A real living hell

***

Koblontz Fortress photo: Dwight L. Roth

Also posting this one on d’Verse Poets Pub open link today. Join us at: https://dversepoets.com