A quote for Friday: “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.” Ecclesiastes 12:7
I’ll start with a story …
*************************************
The warm breeze swirling around her.
Her clothes were neatly folded, placed reverently among a struggling patch of wildflowers. She was alone, taking one long last look at the blue sky above, imaging the decaying buildings before her when they were new and bustling with people and purpose.
Abandoned, few but academics and historians visited. She came to wander the land and honor the memories that came to her through the countless years.
Yes, they now had the stars;
Yet …
Gentling her smile, she dissolved into a shower of lights.
The warm breeze swirling through, indifferent to her absence.
*************************************
Now, it’s your turn.
.
.
.
.
.
.
featured image, cropped, by Oleksandr Pidvalnyi, Pexels license
Fletch says: She was not the thing but only the illusion of the thing: a fiction made from color and light. Her purpose: to be a distraction – a bauble drawing the eye to the flashing moment rather than the gritty truth beneath it.
While she swayed and strutted, all shimmery in blue – other forces were poised to attack. The enemy should have been watching, should have been ready, should have been careful – but instead he spent his time watching her as she pranced and twirled.
Such was the master plan – to distract fallen humanity and to damn them with delights of the moment and thus to prevent them from preparing for eternity.
Cameron says: (It’ll be longer than 100 words, but what the hell?)
The sun had risen and was beginning to warm the stones of the old temple. Heather stepped out with her hand outstretched as if welcoming the new day. Behind her, the photographer snapped away.
The shopkeeper had been so happy to fit her with the dress. The people she passed on the street asked to take pictures with her. It was exciting to them to see a Westerner wearing their clothing and taking the time to learn about their country.
When the pictures were published, people she thought friends shrieked accusations of “colonialism” and “cultural appropriation.” Her real friends only focused on how good the pictures looked and asking her about the people.
When I was in Thailand, the president called me for my advice about a border wall. Apinya, my Thai friend, and I spent the day walking through old temples and other ruins—I always a few yards behind her. The next day, the president called me back for my opinion. I said, “The wall should be brick with an earthy skin-tone. It shouldn’t be straight, but rather have undulating curves and firm columnar thighs—I mean pillars. As for the rump parts—er, ramparts—and the breasts—er, breastworks—you’re a better judge of that than I, Mr. President.”
3 Comments