Upwards, onward, always on the move. “Do your best”; my father’s voice comes back to haunt me.
“There’s a day tomorrow”; I hear my juvenile falsetto responding; but as a good son I left them all behind; now from my pinnacle I feel the pull of envious eyes.
It’s so cold — alone — up here.
Too late I hear my mothers voice; “Go as far you want, but never leave your heart behind”.
One step at a time I carefully retrace my steps on the road less traveled, leaving loneliness behind. Jubilant I’m greeted by their stern faces and closed doors.
What a great Christmas gift to find one of your pictures at Friday Fictioneers. I will try to visit all the tales this week. The picture was taken on Madeira last year, and is from one of the many levada walks we did, personally Frost’s poem echo in the back of my head when I took the picture. But I took a symbolic twist on that one. Let me all wish you happy holidays, wherever you are.
On our wanderings in fiction we are guided by Rochelle Wissoff-Fields and every week you will see new ways to tell stories in 100 words to the same picture.
December 24, 2014