August 12…


C. Dale Rogerson

Just hours ago, the entire city’s rose parade had the block cordoned off. It’s not the first time it’s happened on this block.

Now, details are scarce.

The authorities are tight-lipped.

What happened? Why the grand display of flashing lights?

Most of all, why the extreme secrecy?

We may never know.

And no one, but no one, can explain the sudden snowfall that blankets this one street… and in August, too. And what about that police box that appeared on the corner and is now gone?

wc: 86

This work of fiction is written for  Friday Fictioneer ‘s hosted weekly by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-fields.  A Huge thank you goes to Dale Rogerson,  for sharing this week’s photo prompt with us.

Author’s note: Had a hard time this week writing to the prompt. My head is still trying to wrap around the fire at Notre Dame’s Cathedral. I wrote several papers in college on religious art, architecture, iconography, and cosmogony wherein this cathedral often played a part. My husband speaks fondly of his visit to France in High School and of how beautiful it was. Together we mourned. Together, we have rejoiced in the art that was saved. Viva la Notre Dame! (forgive my french. )

Soul of Water

The roar of the water deafened my ears and awakened long silent senses. Cold, piercing water sliced against my upturned cheeks before sluicing down my body. The spirit of the sound vibrated my bones and rattled the organs within me as it permeated every cell of my being. My heart ached with every pound of the water against the stones as it cascaded down the mountain side and gathered into a swirling whirlpool far below. My soul plunged, deeper and deeper, spinning and crashing against the bottom of the deep chasm. My lungs constricted, a painful reminder of my mortality as I opened my eyes and felt the warmth of my own tears co-mingling with the ice cold cascade.

I am water.

Hear me roar!


This week Pegman took us to Portland, Oregon, USA via Google maps. I choose my images from Google’s extensive library of images as I explored the area and came upon the beautiful Multnomah Falls Park. Someday, I would like to see this immense waterfall  in person. Until then, I must let my spirit soar and imagine just what it would be like to stand near them. Hope you’ve enjoyed this little story, and if you’d like to read more stories please join us at:  … once there, follow the tab prompt and the blue frog to more adventures and mayhem. 🙂

Mordecai’s Photo

Author’s Note: I am reposting this from my old page. I was hacked this week beyond salvage. After hours of trying to get it fixed, it was decided to relaunch from scratch. So, to all who know me as Jelli… I’m still Jelli or Bear to you. 🙂 ❤ 


Photo prompt: C. Roger Bultot


Closing my eyes, I let the heady sweetness of the honeysuckle vines mixed with hyacinths take me back to my childhood.

‘I know not why I took it.’ Grandfather Mordecai shook his head in sadness as he showed me the old tin-type. ‘Such beauty, surrounding such sorrow it was…’

My mind supplied the images he described. The charred remains of the benedictine sisters, sworn to silence, except to scream their deaths in the fire.

‘The Nazis… such evil…’ Grandfather Mordecai had wept into his kerchief. ‘I tell you… so you never forget… so you fight hate with love… forgiveness…’


This work of fiction is written for  Friday Fictioneer ‘s hosted weekly by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-fields.  A Huge thank you goes to Roger Bultot,  for sharing this week’s photo prompt with us.