Five Sentence Fiction: Breakfast
Breakfast for the Bumblebee
The morning’s brilliant sunshine belied the cool air, but the bumblebee, sluggish at breakfast on the spent seed head, foretold the change to come. The season had been awaiting the moment and the moment was here, and even as the day warmed and the bees efficiently bumbled on their way, grand and beautiful clouds appeared on the horizon, slowly, quietly parading across the sky, their size and numbers more dense each hour until by afternoon the blue overhead was hung with dreamy cotton and the voice of the wind whispered high in the treetops of what was to come. The day grew darker and more quiet until by early evening all was so still and dim that when the first few whispering patters of rain began their sound was clear, though unintelligible, as if speaking a language, like that of the trees, not of this place.
The rain fell quietly all night, lovingly soaking the hardened earth of late summer until, sated, it slept. As the next morning dawned the rain slowed and stopped, the clouds parted and cleared in a reverse of their arrival the day before, leaving the sun to shine brilliantly in the blue dome of morning, but the heat was gone from the earth, once again, for another season.
Before the Change
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Five Sentence Fiction: Breakfast
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When We Courted At Evening
He waits.
I remember when we courted, when I would sneak down to the tracks by the creek right after dinner, just around the bend from where my parents were settling down for the night, and wait for you.
She arrives.
My heart would skip a beat when I saw you there, waiting for me, I almost flew to your side but thought I should be careful, not knowing you all that well, yet each time I saw your silhouette my love was stronger and I knew you were the one.
They meet.
And what silly things did we do but talk about the weather, and what we’d done that day, and what our siblings were doing, and circle around each other and peck at the gravel as if the world hadn’t suddenly stopped turning because we were together.
Talking.
Just a few minutes, we never wanted to draw attention, but when I saw the shadows creeping farther and farther across the tracks I knew I had to start back for home to be back by dusk.
Into infinity.
Who would think, all these years and all these children, and I still carry these memories of you walking to see me in the warm evening light.
Just being together.
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Five Sentence Fiction: Memories
I took this series of photos walking on Main Street one spring evening recently, where the tracks cross the street and run along the creek where I walk nearly every day, and yet at the right angle they look completely isolated from civilization. I saw the one goose, then a female came to meet him—at a distance I can only tell them from one another by size when male and female are side by side—and they looked and acted so much like a couple of awkward teenagers. I used my 70-300mm zoom lens so I could focus on them and give a little blur to the surroundings; unfortunately in the light it was difficult to see if I was focusing on the geese and in some photos I was focusing on the tracks just in front of them. No matter, I saw a story right away and knew I could even use those photos. The evening light gave the scene an antique look. Then I waited for the keyword that would work for them.
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All images used on this site are copyrighted to Bernadette E. Kazmarski unless otherwise noted and may not be used without my written permission. Please ask if you are interested in using one in a print or internet publication. If you are interested in purchasing a print of this image or a product including this image, check my Etsy shop or Fine Art America profile to see if I have it available already. If you don’t find it there, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
A Message From Last Year
A Message From Last Year
Even as it seems everything is suddenly in bloom I gathered these stiff and worn parts left from the blooms of last year’s garden, both domestic flowers and the wilder sort who volunteer where they will. I love these dried bouquets with their rich earthy colors, especially as I prepare this year’s garden for the growing season, and honor them.
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Five Sentence Fiction: Changes
Understanding is given from one generation to the next regardless of desire as the season changes in an endless cycle, and the cycle comes back again to its beginning. As you revel in the inspiration of the vibrant green life that fills your eyes, do not forget the roots from which this life springs. The remnants of that life have a beauty that youth has not the depth to express for it does not seek to profess beauty, only truth. Treat these remnants with care and respect, for someday your wisdom will speak in this form as well. The most weathered and resilient will be the ones to tell the stories.
This week’s key word also makes me think of a song by singer/songwriter Phil Ochs…Changes. Do have a listen, and make sure you read the lyrics.
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All images used on this site are copyrighted to Bernadette E. Kazmarski unless otherwise noted and may not be used without my written permission. Please ask if you are interested in using one in a print or internet publication. If you are interested in purchasing a print of this image or a product including this image, check my Etsy shop or Fine Art America profile to see if I have it available already. If you don’t find it there, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
Isolated
Isolated
“I watch the water thundering past, so loud it drowns my thoughts and memories. I can rest my head, my heart, for just a while. The floodwaters have carried away my mate, my home, my children, my world, all is gone, I am alone and isolated, and I don’t know what to do. Once these waters were nurturing, I felt complete floating on their surface, graceful and beautiful, awkward on my feet on land. I only wish it had taken me too.”
She watches the creek.
I really did notice this single female Canada goose standing on the top of the bank of the creek one early evening, standing completely still, and alone. Her stillness was strange, but not so much as her aloneness, geese are social animals, this is nesting and mating season, and wherever I see geese I never see only one. I know this flock, I walk through them all the time. Something was so forlorn at the way she stood so calm and still, and stared at the creek thundering by.
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A part of Five Sentence Fiction:Isolated.
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All images used on this site are copyrighted to Bernadette E. Kazmarski unless otherwise noted and may not be used without my written permission. Please ask if you are interested in using one in a print or internet publication. If you are interested in purchasing a print of this image or a product including this image, check my Etsy shop or Fine Art America profile to see if I have it available already. If you don’t find it there, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
Winter Waterfall
Waterfall Woods
A little bit of a waterfall along the lower trail in Kane Woods was ice free and a destination on a darkish day. The woods are very interesting on days like this, quiet, still. It’s a nice visit.
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I am adding this to this week’s “Five Sentence Fiction” with the keyword of “offering”.
I can hear a trickling sound, so loud in the quiet of the woods it seems to move about between the bare trees where honeysuckle and wildflowers had bloomed, now empty of leaves and flowers and berries it is full of detailed interest of branches and vines, and a light cover of snow. I follow the sound along the path down and down and down into the ravine and walk along the frozen slip of a waterway where I can hear it gurgling over the rocks and gravel under the ice. Tall trunks of trees rise straight up around me, and far above me their barren canopy of twigs melds with an unyielding overcast sky. In the dimming light I find at a bend in the little stream that a portion of ice has opened, offering a space for the water to flow freely if only for a short while, and the hushed gurgling becomes laughter as the water runs recklessly to the end of one rock and leaps off, and then another, splashing, without a care that it will soon slip under the ice again. On a brighter day it might have been the laughter of children, even of myself in these woods as a child, but in this quiet space the music is the moment.
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All images used on this site are copyrighted to Bernadette E. Kazmarski unless otherwise noted and may not be used without my written permission. Please ask if you are interested in using one in a print or internet publication. If you are interested in purchasing a print of this image or a product including this image, check my Etsy shop or Fine Art America profile to see if I have it available already. If you don’t find it there, visit “purchasing” for availability and terms.
Today 