What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
The word today is WORDS FROM http://lilliemcferrin.com/five-sentence-fiction-words
I hold you in my arms my little one and watch as your eyes flutter, your mouth shaped in an ‘o’.
I gaze at your incredibleness and inhale your baby smell.
I envelope your tiny hand amongst my fingers, with a grip so tight you cling, never wanting to release me, I feel the same within.
I will protect you and adore you from this night till end of time and words simply aren’t enough to tell the world you’re mine.
From the moment that your gurgled to your little baby sighs, the word that struck into my heart, is the day that you said mum.
For those wondering yes both girls, both in blue (pale blue) and yes K is wearing what B did 🙂 Hope you enjoy.
100 Words Writing Prompt #323 Velvet Verbosity
The word is TUCK
Photo Credit- Mark Tasker
Crinkly fingers pink soft to the touch, cupids mouth as she breathes, arms above her head, stretching whilst asleep, little chest rises and sinks
Eyelids flutter but remain closed, what does she dream, little ‘coos’ slip from her lips and tiny sighs are heard
This is my angel I gaze out, as I tuck her safely in her crib, this is the one I would die for as she made my life complete
Now, though many years have passed, if perchance I see her slumber, memories of her tucked up safe flood back…my angel, my joy, my wonder
I am drawn to you
like my bed when I am weary
from the day
I am drawn
I am drawn
like fresh brewed coffee
in the morning
I am drawn
like juicy strawberries
I am drawn
like cuddling a puppy
soft and fluffy coat
I am drawn
like walking in the forest
I am drawn
like red plumb cherries
juice running down my chin
I am drawn
like watching the ocean
I am drawn
like seeing a baby smile
and gaze with curiosity as I hold
I am drawn
like having a massage
I am sure you have the picture
I flittered from Title to the Text
I decided on text and write the title afterwards.
What makes you warm and fuzzy?
My warm and fuzzy moments come from so many things.. I’m sharing just a few
- hearing my daughters laugh
- my daughters giving me a hug
- holding onto Mr. S
- reading comments on my writing
- listening to Andrea Bocceli – or any music
- hearing a new borns cry
- watching a child take their first steps
- watching a foal take theirs
- orangutang infants
- puppies and grown puppies
- wishing balloons on a Thailand night
- eating something delicious..strawberries – lobster
- drinking something delicious – a Mai Tai – chocolate milk
- giving my arm to my parents when they walk
I guess this list (in my mind) is endless as it would be for each and every one of you.
Tell me if you wish what makes you warm and fuzzy?
Even if it’s one.
Listen to the morning birds with their wake up song
Listen to the footsteps in the house where you belong
Listen to the new borns as they utter their first sounds
Listen to the children’s laughter ringing through playgrounds
Listen to the anger in the voices in a fight
Listen to thunder as it cracks on stormy nights
Listen to the people having conversations nearby
Listen to the whirring fans on ceilings way up high
Listen to the sounds of hooves galloping on the ground
Listen to the lost shelter pups crying to be found
Listen to the man as he whistles his tune
Listen to the clink of your knife and spoon
Listen to the waterfalls that flow from rocks above
Listen to the cooing of the released caged white dove
Listen to the whispers of children out at play
Listen to the elderly and what they have to say
Listen to the waves as they tumble to the shore
Listen to the high heel shoes step across the floor
Listen to the pelting rain upon an iron shed
Listen to the winds blow strong when your warm in bed
Listen to the band you love sing your favourite song
Listen to the keyboard click when your typing all day long
Listen to the crackling of wood burning in the fires
Listen to the breath inhaled and listen when it expires
Listen to your heart beat strong beneath your chest
Listen to when someone speaks, that their life is in a mess
Listen to the child that says that they feel pain
Listen to the teenager who wants to come home again
Listen to the bubbles in an effervescent drink
Listen to the water drip into the kitchen sink
Listen to the kittens as they softly purr
Listen to the shoes of a flamenco dancer
Listen to the one you love when they have something to say
Listen to the friends you have and laugh with them each day
Listen to the abused animals who haven’t got a voice
Listen to the sadness of others so that one day they may rejoice
Listening… A simple thing we take for granted.. sometimes we hear but do we always listen
I’m listening to Sarah McLachlan…& I am listening to Angel.
Music…songs & their words…bring out a different me….possibly hard to understand or for me to explain… but shall I say my emotions change, they heighten & I’m empowered to write simply by listening to lyrics…
My writing emerges from within me, sometimes I do not intentionally choose the words, or the scenarios…my words choose me...what ever wishes to materialise from somewhere inside my being…persuades me to write. I may not have a wide vocabulary nor be as eloquent as some other writers…but I am compelled none the less to do so..
Listening to Sarah at this moment in time
I picture rolling green hills & glistening blades of grass brushed by a sun shower, the suns rays reaching out to kiss the world beneath from behind the slow rolling clouds…I picture white crested waves tumbling leisurely to the shore, stretching themselves out to reach the hot sands before rolling back onto themselves…I picture forests tall, as I walk upon crackling Autumn leaves beneath my feet, tall timbers being graced by the light of the sun caressing their canopy…I picture a new born foal unsteadily trying to stand to suckle from his mother…I picture an open fire, staring at the coloured flames, listening to the crackling of the wood as it relinquishes its fight against the fire that embraces it…I picture a new born being placed on her mother & to watch the tears that fall upon the mothers cheek as she gazes with intense love upon her perfect child…I picture rain drops settled against a frosted window pane slowly trickling downwards and breathing warm air upon the glass to draw pictures…I picture my parents tenderly holding hands or exchange a smile… I picture lying on a blanket on a warm summer evening and gazing above at an almost blackened sky that has come alive with stars…I picture my daughters when I sat in a dimly lit room on a rocking chair to feed them in the early hours of quiet still morning..their small hands grasping my fingers… watching their eyelids close from being sated with milk & a sweet sleepy smile..
so many things that music & lyrics bring me..
so I write not for acceptance…
I write because I am compelled to share my inner voice that can only be heard on paper…
no one can stop my love of writing, no one can stop what is so much a part of me..
& if perhaps my writing may touch a life…
with laughter…a smile…or perhaps even a tear..
that is the only recognition I as a writer need…
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars
Charles A Beard
You don’t get to choose how you’re going to die
You can only decide how you’re going to live
Imagine the people in your life as tiny infants & as 100 year old adults. Ask yourself this question “Will this matter a year from now?”
The grand essentials to happiness in life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for
The Empty Nest A Mother’s Hidden Grief. The memoir is the story of my life as a mother, with an emphasis on the unspoken grief, which accompanies the process of letting go of one’s children as they grow up. As much as a mother loves her children, she must endure, at many stages of their growth, the pain of losing them. The inevitable “cutting of the ties” culminates when the day arrives for her children to leave home. For many women, this time coincides with profound personal changes of menopause and fiftieth birthdays. My own recent experience of this process prompted me to revisit my life as a mother, and to delve into the journals which I had kept since I was pregnant with my two daughters, some twenty years ago. The journals reveal the learning curves of motherhood and I was able to use this material to form both the chronological backbone of the memoir, and to expose the “heart” of the story in the touching and personal moments that I had recorded.
Please view, if you are interested click on the cover which will take you to Lulu.com. Also available for Kindle at Amazom.com
“Below please view the Prologue”
The Empty Nest – a Mother’s Hidden Grief
I began writing this story some five years ago when I was 49 years old. At the time I was working in a nine-to-five job for a small book distribution company. Now I work in a nine-to-five job in an administrative role for a lighting manufacturer. I was born and raised in Australia, and I am respectably average in most ways—height, looks, disposition, income, taste in furnishings, personal achievements and emotional baggage. I am an “everywoman”, if one exists. Or rather, an “everymother”, for what really defines me and obsesses me is the story I have to tell about my children.
When I started writing, I was facing the daunting prospect of turning 50 and the more upsetting event of both my daughters leaving home. With these two facts looming before me, I discovered within me a voice that was clamoring to be heard. Would I be like the mother in the movies with a drawstring apron, waving to my children at the picket fence with tears rolling down my cheeks? What happens to that mother? The movie never tells you because the story follows the children—their adventures, their romances, their heartaches—and only once in while do they come back to visit mum. She reminds them to eat their veggies and then the children are gone again. In the final shot she peers through the curtained window, a grey shape behind glass. The curtain shuts. End of mother.
What happens to her, I wanted to know. I needed to know. I am that mother.
This is a story of an ordinary Australian mum who is coming to terms with the fact that her life is changing forever. The characters that I share my feelings about are real people and each of them plays a very important role in my life; as a woman, a partner, a mother and a friend. This is my voyage, that which has emerged from my very heart and soul, beginning many years ago when I first became a mother to the time when my children decided to leave home—or as some people call it, ‘abandon the nest’.
4.0 out of 5 stars The Empty Nest, September 20, 2012
Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)
This review is from: The Empty Nest: A Mother’s Hidden Grief (Kindle Edition)
From the cradle to the empty nest. I passed through that journey myself so I understand the emotional roller coaster ride that this author takes you through. I think all daughters and daughters-in-law should read it – O, yes the boys too. I am the mother of two boys! There are tears and laughter, joys and sorrows in this very honest tale and it helps us to understand how we can support each other as mothers as we go through life together.
Thank you Shirley 🙂
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