Secret Hoards

Adam73, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I couldn’t find the dog’s bowl. I’d looked in the normal places, sorted through jam-packed cupboards filled with paperware, ceramic plates, cardboard boxes from blenders and other appliances. It had to be somewhere. We never threw anything away. I had no choice but to go into the archives.

In a room stacked floor to ceiling with broken chairs, science projects, NYT and Safeway circulars from 1974 to present, and countless historical documents, I found the bowl. The dog must have dragged it into his secret hiding place because there it was, between his paws, cradling his head while he slept.

Zombies and Nonsense with a Long A.

Photo by Lal Toraman on Pexels.com
Long A words draped the fissures in its skin,
ape and grape, not apple, artichoke, crass. 
The Zombie roamed, eh, traipsed, across acres,
acres of cultivated plant nations. 
Date palms waved their fronds in hollow desert.

Zombie detected alien cave ants. 
Pained by the damage these aggravating
beasts confabulate, Zombie baited, waited, laid
waste to a spate of ant infested crates.
It’s cause: annihilate stealth arthropods.

Exhausted, strained brain Zombie made a lake,
baked a cake, took a stake. Ate dates from plates
that estimate, cogitate, integrate. 
Zombie screamed, brayed, raised an alarm, hungry
it was for repetitive chaining brains.

Elemental

Photo by Monica McHenney

Solstice has come and gone. The days are waning now. Invite the neighbors in for summer watermelon and ice cream sundaes. See out the sunset together. Recall an evening savored for its late fading light, light that illuminates gatherings on porches where people jawbone until after dark.

Remember when kids played keep away on a night like this? Or they brought their mitts out to catch and throw across the street? They’d stop to let a car pass. Maybe you were in that car. On the way home. Maybe someone on the porch hailed you. “Come up, bring the family.”

Reading the Room

Photo by Monica McHenney

If Sadie had any idea this girl, who’d assured Sadie they didn’t know each other, would look at her hand and turn her world upside down, she would have walked right past that “Psychic” sign in the window and bought a sack of corn instead.

The girl said someone was lying to her. Sadie’s sister, always a suspect; maybe her boyfriend was playing around; then again, the neighbor claimed she hadn’t seen the Amazon package that Sadie’s cousin sent.

Sadie recognized the girl in her P.E. Class.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” 

“My aunt’s the psychic. Yeah, I was lying.”

A Parasol, a Stroll, and an Unfortunate Act of Nature

Photo by Pierre Blachu00e9 on Pexels.com

On my way from Musée Marmottan Monet to Palais de la Découverte, I chanced on a rare display of public temper between two girls.
One held a lacy parasol, the other grabbed it. The parasol moved to-and-fro like the flag on a rope in a tug of war. I couldn’t understand their French, but the pinches sur l’arrière said it all. Oh là là, they went at it.

A gust of wind broke the umbrella. They shouted in unison, “Oh là là, oh là là,” and laughed. It puzzled me, the change of mood, but I guessed they were sisters.

An Amicable Settlement

Photo by Peter Kessler

When I took the dogs out, there was a vulture on the power line across the street. A crow landed next to it. Two others sat above like sports fans on bleachers waiting for the game to start.

The vulture seemed young, inexperienced. It looked at the crow, shook its wings, and a feather dropped on the ground. The crow preened, cawed. The fight was off. 

The dogs pulled at their leashes. Nothing more to see here. It was getting hot. We moseyed around the block, talked with a few neighbors. When we got back, even the feather was gone.

The Magic Diaspora

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Dressed for travel, carpet bags packed, the Little People gathered around Granny Ellen’s grave. Saddened by Granny’s death, they knew that not a one of the village folk could take her place. She was the last of the elf whisperers. She spoke for nature. The elves reckoned the time for talk was past and the time for action too far in the future.

Gaia was resigned. The elves were united. Earth’s people had ignored drying trees, tolerated the stinky air and the murky water. Gaia summoned the Milky Way to make a staircase and the elves set off for home.

Moving Day

Photo by Ilargian Faus on Pexels.com

On moving day, a steady stream of neighbors walked past as the movers unloaded.

“What a cute dog.” A woman dressed in pajamas bent to stroke Tartar’s head and seemed surprised when he growled. “Well I never…”

“Let him get used to…”

“That dangerous thing. Keep him away.”

She retreated behind a man with a pistol in his belt. “And pick up after him. Or else.”

As they left, my closest neighbor wanted a higher fence, “You pay for it.”

A wild-eyed woman crossed the street, frantic. “No barking and no UFOs.”

I told the movers to reload the truck.

Inspired by a prompt from One Creative Writing Prompt a Day by Lita Kurth

Undercover Nature Lover

Photo by Andreea Ch on Pexels.com

After hours, a box arrived at Jenny’s apartment above the florist. For months, her boss had used her address for clandestine deliveries. The earthy smell was unmistakable. It was a priceless orchid trafficked from Brazil that Banyan had ordered for a private collector.

The next morning, she said “Nothing came.”

“Call them. It’s perishable.” He picked up a spray hose and walked around the shop in a snit.

Jenny called USDA enforcement and got an appointment for lunchtime.

When she left Banyan looked suspicious, like he knew she was turning him in.

Maybe he smelled the plant under her jacket.

Inspired by Lita Kurth’s, One Creative Prompt a Day