I was taking a hike at Lake Isabella yesterday near the river when I found this scene. Many different stories, from fun to scary, came through my head. I thought it would be nice to find out what your thoughts were on this photograph. So tell me what happened here.
Your Story is a SethSnap series in which you get to decide the story behind the photo. You can write a story, a poem or even just one word. You decide. Put on your best cowboy hat, chaps and boots, turn on your favorite Hank Jr. song and go! To see previous Your Story posts click on “Story Time” on the right.
Not sure if you want the story in a comment – if not, sorry fro not posting correctly. :
Remnants of Fervour
The rush towards pleasure
Freedom and cleansing water
Through thicket and darkness
Leaves remnants of your fervour
A thatch of lost clothing
Like a postcard on the branches
To remind others who follow
How perfect and how rivetting
Is the path to freedom here.
Cheers, Helen 🙂
I am happy you posted here so i could read it too 😉
Beautiful. Thanks so much Helen.
Great poem, Helen!
She lost her scarf along the shore
The river pulled it even more
It traveled miles and then it snagged
A hammock for the tired and ragged
veery nice …
Thanks Jo Ann.
Love it, perfect in its simplicity and humour. 🙂
clothes quickly discarded in the woods
two teens madly in love
they lost track of time
it almost dark
here comes Ole farmer Brown
they race to get dressed
a blouse cannot be found in leaves
just the sweater will have to do
left behind, they scurry out of sight
a hugh rain storm comes
washes her blouse into the river
it’s banks swell into flood plains
now racing along through wooded areas
the article of clothing gets trapped
wrapped around a branch
the strong current continues
to beat at this lightweight fabric
now it looks like the werewolf of London
has been stalking about these backwoods
beware of lover’s lanes and full moons
“I like to meet his taylor…”
Good one. Thanks so much. 🙂
oh my pleasure! 🙂
Werewolf of London – classic! So clever!! 🙂
thank you! yeah Warren Zevon had some interesting lyrics. *L*
Free at last , thank God Almighty I’m free at last.
Good one. Thanks Sheila.
That’s perfect – simple and complete in one sentence, I stand in awe!!
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Returning to the scene, even with several police officers in tow could not stop Julie’s fear. She stopped walking waiting for her heart to slow. A gentle hand caught her arm and a soft woman’s voice urged her on. “Can you show us the way to the hut?” Julie nodded and gripped the police woman’s hand tightly. Together they pushed through the dense bush coming face to face with a tin shed. Stepping tentatively Julie took a deep breath as another police officer opened the door to her former prison. She couldn’t look into the depths of its interior and turned her head. A sudden scream left her lips as she looked directly at a torn remnant of her dress. She was immediately taken back to the night of her escape. When she had felt the tug at her clothing she was certain it was him and she would die in the mud and rain. In that moment her will to live had been all consuming. Without looking back Julie had pulled with all her might against the hold on her and heard the ripping of fabric. Sticks and thorns pierced her bare feet, scraped her arms and face but still she had run. Julie had no idea how long she ran on the road before she realised her feet were hitting firm ground. When headlights blazed ahead of her she feared it was him but hoped it wasn’t. After months of imprisonment and abuse her luck changed in an instant. The old couple carefully wrapped her into a blanket and took her straight to the police station.
Now the investigation was in full swing and her captor behind bars. This was the last piece of the puzzle to ensure he never walked free again.
Wow this is amazing. So beautifully done. Thanks.
Thank you – the photo inspired it…as usual it was a free flow…I let my mind ‘write’ for me. I enjoy it.
Thank you – I love prompts!
You’re welcome, Mandy. I do, too – sometimes but I’m working on my novel right now, tweaking it. You might – maybe maybe – like it. It’s featured, of course, on my blog: http://janecoopereaston.wordpress.com
It’s a crime (misogyny) novel. Yeah, I know. Thanks, Jane
Thank you…its where the image took me.
An ancient mummy rose from the lake and decided to go for a walk. He got caught on the branches, slipped on a patch of snow, and lost some of his wrappings. Unable to free the wrappings, he sulked back to the lake in total embarrassment, never to be heard from again.
Ha ha. Good one.
“So that’s where it went!”
My first thought was that it reminds me of a particular spot in Salem, MA.
It reminds me of the burial grounds there, as well as Pickering Wharf.
Some moments are made..some created..some stay..some end..This will last till the end of time and for it we unite 🙂
Thanks! >P 🙂
Good job everyone! Love reading them all!
The trees rag clothes swayed in the breeze. Each weathered scrap held the secret prayers and wishes of someone unknown. Someone who had walked miles clutching the fabric tightly in their hands, filling its threads with their fevered dreams and fears. Their feet had followed the well worn path around its trunk, three times. Their eyes had chosen this branch, and their fingers had tied the cloth into the tree, before they had turned and walked away, leaving this sacred fragment of their life behind.
Beautiful. Thanks… 🙂
A rag on a branch
Wet, worn, ragged and torn
I blame the weaver
Never post first drafts
Especially when counting
And you can’t count 6
Nice.. Love it. Thanks.
A rag on a branch
So wet worn ragged and torn
I blame the weaver
That’s got it, Andrew.
Thanks. 🙂 … 🙂
Ha. Good thought. Thanks. 🙂
it was what remained of my lost friend..a torn piece of entangled and withered..just like her life..lost color, hue and use..left hanging to rot and loose..threads that told it was a life weaved, once so carefully..yet now it loks so ugly..it turned that way..when got lost on the riverside..the other day..I can still hear the screams ..the pain..the tears..shadows in agony..I look at this blankly..trying to fight my emotions..escaping from the find..shutting my mind..I miss you..again..and again..my friend..who I lost on the riverside.
Nice one. Thanks Kalabalu.
The wind took a scarf and deposited it on a temporarily submerged twig… Two lovers laughed and walked away…
Nice one Billy Ray. Thanks.
Excellent writing all ~ I tend to take a while to decide on what to post, so I’m obviously too slow… LOL. But the different takes on this are wonderful to see! 😀 Great picture too Seth!
THanks Keli, I agree, nicely done.
The wind was whipping way too fast but Tim had promised his son. Sailing was something he had loved as a kid and he innocently wanted to share that with David. The first day of sunshine and seventy degree weather, that would be the day they would go to the lake to teach David how to sail. Tim’s parents had owned the lake house since he was a teenager. Now all his brothers and sisters and their families shared the little lake house in the summers. They had a huge catamaran that he and his siblings still sailed around on. But you don’t teach a ten year old to sail on a catamaran. But there was a boat just the right size. The Sunny was a small two seater dingy with a small sail. The boat was painted bright yellow and the sail was white with a bright yellow sun painted on it. His whole family had grown up learning to sail in the Sunny. Now it was time to teach his own son the art of sailing and he could not think of a better vessel to do it in. But the Sunny was small and the wind was too strong that day. He knew that, but it was a warm and sun filled day otherwise. And for once the lake was not filled with speed boats and wave runners. A quiet day on the lake was rare and it would be almost criminal not to take advantage of it. Not to mention Dave was not about to give up his first chance to get a sailing lesson. He had been waiting all winter, in fact since his birthday in October when his Mom and Dad had told him that he was finally old enough to start learning how to sail. So here they were getting ready to raise the small white sail and catch a ride on the wind. So Tim let Dave pull the ropes and raise the sail on a bright yellow boat three generations old. And the next thing either of them knew they were in the very cold early Spring water of the lake. The wind had caught the Sunny’s sail and whipped it so hard that the little boat had capsized. Luckily they were still right in front of the dock. So they swam into the shallow water near the dock and once Tim could touch the bottom of the lake with his feet he flipped the Sunny back over. The beautiful white sail was shredded and, now that the boat was back upright, the wind ripped the tatters that were left clean off the mast. In fact many tatters caught in the branches of the tall trees around the house. Now every Tim catches sight of a stray, wet, or discolored piece of cloth caught in some branches moving in the wind, he remembers that first sailing lesson he gave his son. And he laughs to himself because sunshine and seventy degree weather can still make for some damn cold water.
Wow amazing jadelon. 🙂 Beautiful job.
Thank you but I forgot it was called Riverside.
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an absolutely inspirational shot…I shared my story on my bog
The town feared the worst when the river began to overflow its banks. Times had been very tough since the economic downturn hit in 2008. There were still people in these parts that had reduced or totally lost their insurance coverage for circumstances like this.
Fortunately, the water receded before it inflicted too much damage on the citizens.
Thanks, glad the water receded. 🙂
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