Story Time: Lane

It’s time for you to take me on a stroll through your mind, past your secrets, and into your imagination.  Tell me a grand story, or write me a small poem.  Heck, I’ll even take a word.  Just write.

Your Story is a SethSnap series in which you get to decide the story behind the photos.  You can write a story, a poem or even just one word.  You decide.  To see previous Your Story posts click on “Story Time” on the right.

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53 responses to “Story Time: Lane

  1. No matter how hard he tried Bob Schrom always came second.
    It had been going on for a long time and it was only just lately that he had noticed that he’d never been third or fourth in anything, and he had never been first.
    No one remembers who won the silver medal in the marathon at the Melbourne Olympics. 1956 was a long time ago and because of the boycot of the US media there was no world wide coverage.
    There is a lovely colour movie but even so it majors on the winners; that is how the world is structured.
    His marathon running days were over and as he walked along this quiet country road he thought about his life and he wondered where all his friends had gone.
    Being second wasn’t all bad; the bloke who won that marathon had died first.
    Second was fine on this occasion.

  2. The road took them to a place beyond reality. No cell service, no television, no honking horns. Just peace. Just nature. Seth this is a gorgeous picture.

  3. This lane I see before me gives me the comfort of cool shady trees as I glide through. I no longer feel tired. I feel light and translucent. The rustling leaves whisper to me while the rays of the sun play hide and seek. I am in complete tune with nature. Thank you Seth.

  4. Even thought the trees may be taller, this photo reminds me of many small pathways I aw on a visit to Denmark, I wrote a poem recently about this very thing.

    Home Sweet Home afar from me,
    At least 10 hours over sky and sea,

    A fairy tale land of red and white,
    of rain, and wind, and winter nights.

    Yet still you send my heart a flutter,
    And here, I can but get your butter,

    Cos’ when I’m sad and feeling down,
    You can lift my spirits like a children’s clown.

    What is this strange longing and connection,
    I feel for such warm and fuzzy introspection?

    Of land and family long dead and passed,
    Would they think me to be completely daft?

    Yet I am of them, and they are of me,
    This continual spreading of the family tree.

    The branches are like the ancient Birch
    Resilient, pervasive til one drops off the Perch.

    If only I could stay or perhaps visit more often,
    But my responsibilities and circumstances rarely soften.

    So I must dream and wish and be ever so frugal,
    And if I can’t afford to travel there, there is always Google!
    By Amanda Mac

  5. Negative ions
    wash over me
    spritzing off
    the freeways
    cell phones and jangled deadlines
    of so-called civilization.
    Deep breaths
    detail the inner,
    polish off the debris.

  6. Shared this on my blog today. I love this photo and was inspired to write a poem. Thanks.

    Sunlight peeks through emerald trees
    Twinkling golden with each breeze
    Shadows play along the walk
    And echo smiles as people talk
    Spring reveals her timeless veil
    Upon the earth with colors pale
    Rustling leaves dance in the sky
    While songbirds chant their sweet reply.
    toniandrukaitis.wordpress.com

  7. Green filtering sun is the most peacful sanctuary. There’s tranquility, there’s cool atmosphere, there’s even love that’s there for each of us. A rare place on our planet.

  8. In the dream, I found myself walking along a pathway, lined with deep dark forest on either side. I had no idea where the path led, but something propelled me forward.
    A rustling sound came from within the tangled brush.
    My imagination prickled.
    And then I realised…..there were lions…..stalking, prowling lions, watching me, following me.
    Nowhere to run, to hide, to escape!
    A nightmare, this path would lead me to.

    (and it did, in a recent dream.)

  9. Zack knew he had to go down the path to reach the treasure but he didn’t trust the trees. He was sure that path was wider a minute ago. 😉

  10. She was sure she’d been down this road before. It felt like home. It felt like she was a girl again, not a 93-year-old woman riding along in a car beside a man that she was sure she was supposed to remember but didn’t. He was taking her somewhere. She couldn’t recall where he said they were going, but this road seemed familiar. It seemed like home.

  11. The calm, gentle voice of the route guidance system said: “turn left after 50 metres”. “This can’t be the right road to Rome (Georgia)”, mumbled Stephen – and he managed to talk in parentheses. There wasn’t much petrol left and he hadn’t seen another car since an hour. Julian, who was sitting in the back seat, was scratching his beard and muttered: “all roads lead to Rome.”

  12. Reaching

    blue sky beckons
    through the leaves
    sun shining brightly
    through the trees
    waving their branches
    firmly in their place
    laughing at us humans
    walking earth’s face
    refusing to stay rooted
    determined to fly

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