He called me just last week from his Shack on the mountain. Seems, his wife sold the house, left, and had gone to Florida. For him, the Shack was his place to get away from the heat of the summer. She stayed home by herself. Her daughter came up and helped. They liquidated all in just a few weeks.
When I worked for him, we always enjoyed long conversations filled with stories of growing up in Eastern North Carolina. He was strong willed, opinionated, and had done just about everything in his seventy plus years. Now, my friend was calling for a listening ear.
Sadly he shared, “When it was over said and done, it was a time, and there never was enough of it.”
Bunky had slipped on the side of the mountain and hit his head on a rock!
Today at d’Verse, we are writing Prosery. This consists of writing a short story, flash fiction or true, exactly 144 words, and incorperating a line of poetry given to us by Lillian. The poetry line is taken from a poem by, “A Time” by Allison Adelle Hedge Coke.
The lines we were given were:
“When it was over said and done
it was a time
and there never was enough of it.”
The story above is a true story from a few years ago, when my good friend died suddenly in an accident at his place in the mountains.
An interesting phenomenon occurred this week, when a huge cloud of dust from the Sahara Desert in Africa was carried across the Atlantic. Some of the dust entered our atmosphere here in the US and is creating wonderful sunsets as the light reflects off the dust particles. This gorgeous photo was taken yesterday, and posted on Facebook by a friend who lives in Lost River West Virginia. It immediately reminded me of John Denver’s song Almost Heaven West Virginia. He graciously allowed me to use it in my post today.
West Virginia shines in all its glory.
Dusty copper sky glows brilliantly
in evening light above shadowed mountains…
outlining ridges with purple hues;
Dripping a spot of gold on the lake below.
“Almost Heaven, West Virginia…” John Denver sang,
dreaming of a place where God paints the sky.
Brushing with broad strokes across a Sahara canvas…
he once again creates beauty and grace from the dust of the earth;
One never hides his face when reaching the summit of a mountain. The long and arduous journey, up the treacherous rock face, challenges all that we have within us. Reaching the top, we see the grand vista below.
It calls for us to cry out, “I’m here!!” “I made it to the top!”
And, as we pause, we hear the echo of our voice, reverberating from the distant valley,
“I am here! …am here!” .. am here!”
“I made it to the top! …the top … the top”
As I reflect on D. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, at the Lincoln Memorial, I see the same thing happening.
Maya Angelou described it this way,
“The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me,
But do not hide your face.”
We still hear those echoes today! “I’m here……”
At d‘Verse today, we are writing prose. Frank asked us to write a piece of only 144 words reflecting on and including the quote from Maya Angelou. Today is Martin Luther King Day in the US.
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Rolling down the mountain I see the sign, “Runaway Truck Ramp.”
I wonder, “What would it feel like driving an eighteen-wheeler;
Losing my brakes half-way down the mountain at seventy mph?
Would I panic or stay focused?
I would guide my rig right into that welcomed sand trail
Carving grooves // sinking in all the way to my axles
Coming to a rumbling halt half-way up.”
“Yes, that would definitely be the thrill of a lifetime!”
Photo: Dwight L. Roth
Today at d’Verse Frank asked us to write a soliloquy (a literary effect of having a conversation with yourself in a poem). This is my first attempt at a soliloquy. I hope it is close to being correct!
The dry weather will affect the Fall colors around here this year. We have not had rain for over a month. Instead of turning yellow, the hickory trees behind our house are simply turning brown and dropping to the ground. The painting above will help us remember how colorful the Fall foliage can be.
Swimming colors blend
Red leaves drift down from the trees
Snow lays on the peaks
Painting: Dwight L. Roth
Frank Tassone’s Haikai challenge is to write a poem using Fall Colors as our prompt. I thought I would repost my painting showing the beauty of Fall colors.
Frank Tassone asked us to write a Haikai poem about the Harvest Moon. This one is very unique in that it comes on Friday the Thirteenth. It has not done that since the 1800s. We missed it here due to the much needed rain that came through last evening.
In the beautiful Pisgah National Forest of North Carolina we find Looking Glass Falls. It is a beautiful sight to behold, flowing under the large outcrop of limestone rock. The layers tell the tale of having formed in a large shallow sea. All of that changed as the earth groaned and plates shifted in rebirth. Now it is a mystery for all to view in wonder.
Beneath a thousand years of Sedimentary Rock
The flow continues, as it has since these mountains
heaved and broke forth from an ancient seabed;
Stories thought to be sealed in stone for eternity
Cracked // twisted // and came forth as the earth convulsed.
“Where were you when the earth was plastic?” This is what God asked Job, in answer to Job’s complaint about his woes and sorrow. Obviously this is more of a paraphrase than a quote. I love to think about the time when the earth was in its formative years. The beauty of geological time is written in the rock layers all around us. I can’t imagine the tremendous forces that lifted and bent these rocks. Once mud on the ocean floor, these rocks are now part of the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Fossils tell of a very different time. I have broken open rocks and found perfect fossils in them. I have cracked geodes open to find amethyst crystals that grew as lava cooled millions of years ago. So when you complain about your situations in life, I ask, “Where were you when the earth was plastic?”
Read writing in rocks
Recognize we are but dust
Gives life perspective
Photos: Dwight L. Roth – taken at the Linville Falls in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina
I am posting this for open link night on d’Verse Poets Pub.
When our boys were young, we made a number of trips to the Canadian Rockies and the surrounding areas. One of our stops was at Athabasca Falls. It was a beautiful spot. I took a slide photo of the falls, and when I got home sent it off to get made into a poster. It hung on our upstairs landing until we moved from that house to our present home. It was rather faded but that time but held a lot of sentimental value. I decided to see if I could paint the photo. This was the beginning of my renewed interest in painting. It is now preserved for a lasting memory.
Rocks refuse to wear away
The little fir tree growing in the rocks survived its precarious location. Several years later we visited the falls a second time and it appeared to be about six feet tall!