Darn Yarn – Take #2

(You aren’t seeing double, this is a second helping for Crispina’s latest Crimson’s Creative Challenge – jotted in response to Shona, who wrote in the comments to my first attempt: “And there’s your next prompt — to have the alpaca speaking!…” And I thought to myself, Oh, how fun, let’s! So, here it is, Shona — this one is for you …)

 

She never did like the whole thready business. The fascination the two-legged had with locks of her hair.

Yet there they were, shearing it, bathing it, pulling it through nails, spinning it into thin ropes lacking any fluffiness, hanging it on sticks they cluck together to make some form of net to then cloak themselves with and strut about in, reverently wearing what had been atop her skin.

It’s quite uncanny. Then again, they do seem to worship everything about her: They house her. Feed her. Protect her. Cater to her (almost) every whim. They openly fawn over her offspring (not that she could blame them that particularity — the young ones do pull on one’s heart-strings).

Odd beings, are the two-legged, in how they wrap something else’s hair around their bodies, bizarrely mesmerized by fleece.

Then again, perhaps in their nakedness, all they can do is have her reign supreme.

 

 

 

 

BET必威 On Reflection

Peru Reflection AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

If you look into the pond, you’ll see

The sky reflected,

The white clouds,

The world drenched in the beauty

Of clear water

On firm ground.

But if you’ll turn your head

From pond-life

And look around

And up

Onto the land and sky,

You will see the real world

In its worry,

In its glory,

So much bigger,

Spinning by.

 

 

For the Friday Fun prompt: BET必威

 

 

Sideways Slant

Sideways NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Going up?

Sliding down?

Where is north?

Where’s the sun?

In perspective

And life

Every day

Every time,

Slant will shape

The view

You’ll find.

 

 

For Kammie’s Oddball Challenge

 

 

What Noise?

Berlin InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

“I cannot stand the city,” they said,

Homesick for dark, wooded silence.

“It’s all clamor and racket.”

 

“It’s my refuge,” he smiled

At the trucks, people, sirens.

“The streets thrum the best lullaby…”

 

 

For The Daily Post