Cold Snow and Daffodils

Old George remembered the day she died just like it was yesterday. Jim was home from college for spring break, and he asked George if he could come along to the cemetery when George went to visit Catherine’s grave.

As they parked in the churchyard and walked through the new fallen snow, no one said a word. George had picked some fresh blooming daffodils, before the spring snow fell overnight.

George broke the silence. “It was a day just like this when she died. Flowers one day and everything cover with snow the next. I can’t believe it has been ten years already.”

Jim commented that it was hard to believe how many of their friends were buried in the cemetery. As they read the name on the gravestones, George said, “Now all of the names swallowed up by the cold…  are gone!”

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Bjorn gave us a line from Swedish Nobel Laureate Tomas Tranströmer’s poem, After Death. We had to use this line from the poem, Now all of the names swallowed up by the cold, and write a 144 word story.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Hard Choices

The scan showed an inoperable brain tumor. She had been there for him all these years, and now when he needed her most, he would be left alone and on his own.

We knew he had early Alzheimer’s when the doctor took his keys and handed them to mother, saying, “He can no longer drive his car.” He was not happy with that decision, as you can imagine!

My wife flew to Edmonton two weeks ago, to be with them as they searched for care facilities for both parents. Now, I am flying through the cold December air to join them. There is so much to think about and so many difficult decisions to make. It all seems very overwhelming.

Droning in my ears, the engines of the Air Canada plane have a calming hypnotic effect, and ‘in the tender gray, I swim undisturbed.’

***

Today at d’Verse, Lisa gave us our Prosery prompt. We are to write a prose piece of flash fiction or personal narrative incorporating one line from the poem, In Sullivan County by Celia Dropkin. It cannot be more than 144 words. I chose to write about an experience we had back in December 2012 when Ruth found out that both of her parents needed institutional care. The line is in dark print.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

                               Christmas 2012

 

 

The Call

Carrie woke to her cell phone lit up and vibrating on the nightstand. It was a text that simply said,

” It’s ready!”

“Please call ASAP.”

She had been waiting anxiously for the past two months for this call. Three times a week, as Carrie sat hooked up to the dialysis machine, she dreamed of this day.

This was an experiment she volunteered for over a year ago. Researchers at Wake Forest University finally perfected a way to take tissue from her bad kidney, isolate the good cells, and grow a new healthy kidney. It would eliminate the rejection factor.

But would it work?

Many anxious thoughts raced through her mind as she stared at the phone. “For how can I be sure I shall see again the world on the first of May?” she wondered.

There were no guarantees, she would be the first.

***

Today at d’Verse, Merril gave us this prosery prompt:

“For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May”
–From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale

We are to take this line from the poem and include it in a flash fiction piece of 144 words. My story inspiration came form a PBS show where are Wake Forest Research doctor talked about this kind of thing being studied. In time they will be able to grow new organs from your own body tissue. How amazing is that!

Join us at: https://dversepoet.com

The Climb…. three more segments

On Tuesday we did prosery at d’Verse Poets Pub. We had to write a 144 prose piece using the word Cloud along with a line from a poem. I wrote this short story. Several bloggers mentioned they wanted the story to continue, so I am attempting to carry on… This is the first segment followed by three new segments.

The Climb

Dwight L. Roth

The old hunter slowly made his way up the rocky mountain side. He used his 30-30 more as a cane than a gun. It was a beautiful winter day with a cool brisk wind blowing up the hollow. He wrapped his coat tightly around his shoulders as he stopped to rest.

George enjoyed hunting for the past forty years. As he unwrapped a Hershey bar, he thought about his younger days and the thrill of getting his first deer on opening day. Now the thrill was just being able to make it to the high top. The view there was spectacular.

At the top of the ridge, he found trees bent from the wind. The clouds were different today. George wasn’t sure, “But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky” Distant snow clouds worried him.

The Story continues:

***

He knew how fast the weather could change in early winter. George had hiked through the mountain laurel, almost to the high-top, the rise of rocks and scrub bushes that rose sharply before dropping down the backside of the mountain.

In the West he saw clouds were moving in more rapidly than he anticipated. He knew he must head back or he would be caught in a blizzard. In his younger days George could have easily stepped it off back toward the ravine in short order. But, his body would not cooperate like it once did. So, he slowly made his way through the laurel as best he could.

Reaching the head of the hollow, he looked out across the mountains and realized there was no way to make it down before the snow closed in on him. He had to find shelter and find it quickly!

*****

It started as sleet and freezing rain, quickly turning into heavy snow. He remembered stories of hunters who got trapped in blizzards and did not make it home alive. George was determined that would not be his fate.

Having hunted the mountain many times, George remembered a large outcropping of rock on the other side of the hollow about half way down. If he could make it that far, a shallow cave at the base would provide shelter from the wind and snow.

Although going down was easier than coming up, one had to still be careful not to slip and fall, or step in between two rocks and sprain an ankle, or God forbid, break a leg. Carefully George made his way through the falling snow. In the distance he could see the large rocks, black against the white blanket of snow.

*****

As George reached the overhanging rocks, he could see his short breaths projecting like tiny steam clouds from a locomotive. He also felt an unusual tingling in his shoulder that radiated down his left arm. It concerned him, but he knew he had to find protection for the night so he pressed on.

He climbed up and peered into the shadows of the opening hoping not to find another animal taking shelter there. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was empty except for a large pile of dead leaves that had blown in over time. The cave provided shelter against the wind and blowing snow.

With snow falling, covering everything, there was no way for George to build a fire or gather wood to keep it going. He knew it was going to be a long cold night. Would anyone miss him?

To be continued:

If you want more let me know…

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

This is where the story originated:

Today at d’Verse, Merril introduced our prosery prompt clouds. In prosery we are given a line from a poem of her choosing and it must be incorporated into the flash fiction story as given. The line she gave us was: “But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky” – from Clouds – by Constance Urdang

For a free pdf. file of the complete story, email me at: dwru27@aol.com

Dreamer – chapter 3

When Henry hesitated, the old man reached for a box of stick matches and struck one on the side of the box. It burst into flame and Purrlin used it to light a single candle sitting on a wooden stand by his chair. The candle burned with an eerie green glow of molten smoke rings rising around the red flame.

“Come, come, my boy, tell me what is on your mind.’


As Henry stared at the candle’s aura, it gave him a light headed hypnotic feeling.


“I want to be a railroad engineer,” he said. “I want to drive an engine that belches fire and smoke as it goes down the track!”


“I see,” said the old man, “You are not alone. Many young boys have that dream! Follow my instructions and your dream will come true. Stare deeply into the candle’s flickering flame!”

*****

This is a continuation of a flash fiction story I started as our prosery (144 words exactly) prompt at d’Verse Poets Pub.

Check it out at: https://dversepoets.com

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Dreams – chapter 2

Henry only paused a few seconds. When he heard the voice saying, “If you are a dreamer, come in.” he could not resist. He always had a vivid imagination and loved the mystery of ‘what comes next?’ in the books he devoured.

As Henry stepped from the bright stoop into the dark hallway, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. “Come in my child, it has been such a long time since I had visitors other than Simmi! As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a stooped old man holding Simmi on his lap. There was nothing fearful about him as Henry anticipated.

“My name is Purrlin. I can make dreams come true. Do sit down and tell me your dreams.”

Henry moved to the rickety old chair by the table. Should he tell the old man about his dream?

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

D’Verse Prosery prompt: “If you are a dreamer, come in” from Shel Silverstein’s poem Invitation…

https://dversepoets.com

Dreamer

Henry followed the big yellow cat down the block, wishing to pick her up and hear her purr. He continued across the street to the next block. She showed up before on the door step of his old brownstone buildings.

His mother told him not to wander off, but the cat seemed to want him to follow. Henry’s mother’s words faded away. He would only go a block or two.

The cat paused in front of a long winding stair case, then scampered up and through a large open door at the top. Henry thought perhaps he could meet the cat’s owner, so he slowly climbed to the top. As he peered into the dark opening, Henry heard an old man’s voice, “If you are a dreamer, come in my child.” He froze, uncertain whether to go in or run back down the steps.

Painting: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Lillian is challenging us with a prosery prompt. Prosery is a flash fiction piece, of exactly 144 words, that includes a line from a poem given by the host. The line is from Shel Silverstein’s poem, Invitation, as published in his wonderful book, Where the Sidewalk Ends. The line is, “If you are a dreamer, come in“.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Fire In My Head

My parents always told me I was an unusual child! When I began seeing visions at the age of six, everyone passed it off as childish fantasy.

As I grew older the visions became more detailed and urgent! There were visions like the time my grandmother was sick with cancer, and I saw her complete and whole again. Within that year she made a complete recovery.

Other visions were not as measurable, such as the time I spoke to my grandfather who had died the year before. He assured me all was well and not to worry.

Yesterday, I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head. I had an unusual feeling of anxiety and fear. It was New Years Day, 2020. The sun was bright, the trees were bare; but, there was this ominous dread like never before.

Painting – Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse we are writing prosery, which is a flash fiction piece of 144 words that includes a given line from a poem. Kim gave us this line: I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head –from The Song of Wandering Aengus, by William Butler Yeats.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Hoof-beats

A Dunkard Brethren church once sat at the top of the ridge overlooking Willow Run. Now in crumbles of brick and mortar, flowering honeysuckle invite bees to commune at their cups of sweetness. Blacksnakes slither through the rubble looking for a toad or rat residing there.

It was in this church where itinerant preachers on horseback brought fiery brimstone, forgiveness, and grace to the faithful who gathered. Souls were saved and dunked all the way under in Willow Run.

On the hillside the full moon reflects off of a few protruding graveyard stones. Most have long since been overgrown and broken. The names on the stones kiss the ground, above the deceased as “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”

Tales are told by the ancients, who still live nearby, that at midnight’s full moon rise, horses pounding hooves echo through the night!

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Merril introduce a prosery prompt. This is a short story of no more than 144 words that can be flash fiction, true, or far out imaginary. It must include a random line from a poem that she shared with us. Her line was from a Mary Oliver poem, (Death at Wind River),“In their dreams they sleep with the moon.” My story is flash fiction, based on a little church from my home town. My two brothers and I visited there two years ago, and I took a bunch of photos. These are a couple of photos from there. The story is made up.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com

Bunky

Bunky’s Shack – Dwight L. Roth

Bunky died today!

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!

Bunky – Dwight L. Roth

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.

Join us at: https://dversepoets.com