The air was soup this morning, the wind momentarily still, allowing the fog to settle in more deeply. The sun was low, just having crested the horizon but blocked by the landmass that was Newfoundland. Oars dipping into the water were the only noise aside from the waves sloshing against the sides of the rowboat. …
Category: Prompted Fiction
Writing influenced by image or vice-versa
Petals of Regret
[this piece is a work of promoted fiction- the photo inspires the writing] A wind rips through, sometimes biting, sometimes balmy, a trick of the season’s march towards winter. The heyday of summer is long passed though the days still invite sun-soaked lazy moments. Beside a rickety lounge chair, a worn celadon pot with streaks…