For The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge, we are supposed to show perspective. The eye can be fooled.
I have faces on my mind; all kinds of faces made of glass, plastic, stone, metal, and paper. They’re everywhere, always watching. Luckily, these faces can’t talk or move. Well, at least they haven’t yet.
I took these random macro faces around my house using my iPhone.
My blogging holiday hiatus is almost finished, and all I can say is, “Whew! Glad that’s over!” I feel like I’ve neglected my faithful followers for the last few weeks. For that, I apologize and hope you all understand. I’ll be back soon. So in the meantime, enjoy a few iPhone photos I took using a nifty little clip-on macro lens that my wonderful husband gave me for Christmas.
May the new year find you in fine fettle and be filled with good fortune. Cheers!
This week’s photo challenge for the Daily Post was to show Community. For me, ancient rock art, petroglyphs, and dwellings of the indigenous people of the American Southwest represent community. I took these photos a few years ago in Arizona, near Tucson and Sedona.
Various petroglyph scenes found near Tucson, Arizona.
Rock paintings and petroglyphs near Sedona, Arizona
Montezuma Castle and well – An ancient Sinagua 20-room cliff dwelling near Camp Verde, Arizona.
See Ruby Falls…
On a recent road trip, my husband and I stopped at Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, Tennessee. We took the Ruby Falls cave tour. For those of you who don’t know about Ruby Falls, it’s a spectacular 145-foot waterfall located 1,120 feet beneath Lookout Mountain.
This week’s Daily Post photo challenge was to show GRAND. I thought an underground waterfall qualified.
Even though it’s still warm here on the Florida Gulf Coast, we have a few falling leaves. I took some close-ups to bring out the texture and color. From a distance they look like unremarkable dead leaves, but they’re really kind of amazing when you stop to look. This is about as “fall-ish” as we get.
This week’s Daily Post photography challenge is to show: Infinite. I thought I would show infinite water, beach and sunshine. All these photos were taken on the Gulf Coast of Florida.
The weekly photo challenge for The Daily Post is to show saturated. Here are my photos saturated with color. Please enjoy in moderation or with tinted lenses.
The weekly photo challenge for The Daily Post is to show lines, patterns and texture. Here is my interpretation of the challenge.
I took close-up photos of a U.S. five dollar bill to show the lines, textures and patterns that are generally missed by the naked eye.
These are images of a cholla cactus skeleton. After all the succulent flesh and spines dry up and fall off, this is what’s left. I love the texture and pattern.
I took close-ups of a Hawaiian Ti leaf, one newly emerged and the other aging. The colors and lines are amazing.
A wild flower, a weed blossom, a menacing bloom…
No matter how you feel about a weed, there is no denying that some of them are as pretty as their cultivated and coveted counterparts, especially these little hidden gems. You just have to get down to their level and look close. There is beauty in everything.
These poor little weeds. They’re basically thought of as the plant black plague. The trash flower of the neighborhood. Scattered around the yard like discarded appliances, furniture and rusty cars left for dead. What’s that? You say you don’t live in the neighborhood of misfit yard junk? Well, you get my drift. We cringe when we see them, ostracize them from the community and hope they might magically disappear without intervention.
Well, I like to think we are all weeds trying to push through the impenetrable lawn of life. Trying to avoid getting uprooted or smashed under the heavy hand of the bureaucratic gardener. Hoping someday to become an accepted member of society and be loved. I know, a little corny, but I said it anyway.
Now, with that, I am off to eradicate weeds. They’re taking over my yard like zombies in a post-apocalyptic world. You know, the fast zombies, not those lethargic ones. Call me hypocritical, but I gave them a temporary home, and they’ve overstayed their welcome. They are memorialized in photographs for all the world to enjoy. So I hope you enjoyed them.
This is Festival of Flowers: Week 15.
I would like to thank Jackie for sponsoring the Festival of Flowers this summer. This is the last week to participate until next March, so visit her website to join or just admire all the other lovely flowers.
Number three of the Matchbook Fiction series is a throwback to the era of the fast, powerful, gas-guzzling American made car, the Oldsmobile. Back in the day of the Wonder Bar radio, hand-crank windows, lap belts, giant ashtrays and no cup holders, you were likely to find a pack of matches tossed in one of these rocket-powered autos.
Since I was unable to locate information for the Olds dealer listed on this matchbook, I’ll share a little history of the great founder and car itself.
Ransom Eli Olds founded Olds Motor Works in 1897 and soon after it became Oldsmobile. Olds invented the first gasoline-powered American car and began large-scale production in 1901. Yes, that’s right. Oldsmobile came first, contrary to what many people believe.
In 1904, Olds left his fledgling car manufacturer to build the REO Motor Car Company. General Motors snatched up Oldsmobile in 1908, and it lived a long and fruitful life until GM discontinued production in 2004. That was a sad year indeed.
But, enough of my Oldsmobile reverie. I’ll cut the history engine and roll up to story number three of Strike a Prose!, this time in exactly 489 words.
Please don’t read and drive.
Time Slipped Away
The earsplitting static gushed from the lone speaker in the center of the dashboard of the 1967 Oldsmobile. The sunlight gone, the only source of light came from the dimly lit AM radio.
Lila’s eyes fluttered open and she yawned, “Where are we?”
Steven opened his eyes, clicked off the radio and said, “I guess we fell asleep. The last thing I remember is making out.”
Bolting upright, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt, Lila exclaimed, “Oh, no! We’re late. My mom’s gonna kill me. We have to get back to town.”
Steven cranked the ignition and peeled out of the secluded clearing. Out on the highway, he drove fast and wild, and they reached the outskirts of town in less than 15 minutes, record time.
As they blew by a 24-hour restaurant, Lila said, “I don’t remember Dan’s Diner changing their name,” She turned around and looked as it faded into the distance. “It’s called IHOP now? Do things seem different somehow?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Steven responded with a shoulder shrug. “Check out that car,” he pointed. “It’s like a futuristic concept car or something.”
Lila looked at him in exasperation. “Who cares about your stupid cars? We’re so late, my mom will disown me. And we have school tomorrow.”
He steered the Oldsmobile onto her street and slowed to a crawl. The engine rumbled loud even when he coasted. She worried they would wake up the neighborhood.
“Everything looks weird, rundown,” she said, doubt in her voice. Steven noticed the strangeness too but kept quiet.
They rolled to a stop in front of her house and looked at each other with anxious eyes. Even in the dark, they could see the house was dilapidated, the yard untamed. Apprehensively, they walked, with clasped hands, to the front door.
Lila’s key didn’t work. She knocked lightly and said, “Steven, I don’t like this.”
The porch light came on and the door opened a crack. A woman’s eye peered out.
Lila said, “Mom? What’s wrong? Let me in.”
The woman pulled open the door and scrutinized them with a scowl.
“Mom, I’m sorry were late, but we had car trouble…,” Lila stopped, suddenly noticed that her mother was an old woman.
“What the hell is wrong with you kids? Playing such a cruel joke on me,” the woman shouted and tried to slam the door.
“Wait,” Lila pushed the door. “What’s happening, Mom? Are you sick?”
“Quit calling me mom and get off my porch,” the woman exclaimed.
Lila stood her ground, “Stop it and let me in. This isn’t funny.”
The woman looked Lila up and down. “You look like her when she was a teenager, but you can’t be my Lila. She disappeared 46 years ago with that boy. Never found them or the car. No, you can’t be her. My Lila’s surely dead.”
With haunting finality, the woman slammed the door and turned off the porch light.
Matchbook Fiction is a 500-word or less story written about a chosen matchbook from my collection. It may be about the matches or about something on the matches. You never know what I’ll create.
If you would like to read the first two stories, here they are in order:
An untamed canna lily infiltrates the garden…
This fiery canna lily (though it’s not a true lily) popped up along the fence, an escapee from the neighbor’s yard. Although the placement is very haphazard, I don’t have the heart to remove it. The flowers are far too beautiful.
I find the fruit charming. The outside is covered in a spiky pulp that turns a purplish brown as it ripens. I took a photo of the green fruit split open with the seeds exposed. They will eventually turn black. The seeds are sometimes used as beads in jewelry and, in Zimbabwe, they’re used in gourd rattles, called Hosho.
Canna plants are quite the robust over-achiever. The smoke from burning Canna leaves is said to have insecticidal qualities. Maybe I should try burning them to ward off those pesky bugs that love me so much. The plants also have a high tolerance to contaminants, so they’re used to extract pollutants in wetland environments. [source]
Click here, Festival of Flowers: Week 14, if you would like to share a flower photo or even if you just want to see some of the other spectacular blossoms for this week. Time is running out for this year. The Festival goes on a seasonal hiatus in only 12 more days, September 27th.