Walking on Water, Fly Rod in Hand

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Photo credit: Ted Strutz

Walking on Water, Fly Rod in Hand
by T. Delaplain

“It’s all in the wrist, Trace.” My Dad’s line whipped behind him, slowly returned and walked across the calm water in a lazy “S”. I swore as my tangled fly drove its hook into my thumb.

“Try again, it’ll come.” He handed me his tattered creel. This relic of his youth held all his truths. They had shared the silent hours of meditation, the lonely farewells to his fishing buddies and the rapture of just being.

The fly rod, his staff.
The river, his bible.
The mountain, his chapel.

I recast with perfect pitch and rhythm.

Today’s sermon,”patience”.

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Some stories write themselves. A voice takes you along for the ride and you write. My Dad was a grand story teller and his advice was always given by example. This is his story. He had no use for churches but had an incredible reverence for our natural world and wild spaces. There was never a problem that couldn’t be solved with a fishing rod in hand. He believed that the best stories are about the one that got away, that the water always flows under the bridge so there’s no time for regrets and there’s always another opportunity around the bend. He believed in feeding any neighbor in need and often fished with that in mind. He had endless patience when teaching me how to fish or do long division. I still look to him for answers and sometimes those answers come in strange 100 word packages.

Take a seat in the chair and write a 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Held In Memory

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Photo credit @Al Forbes

Held In Memory
by T. Delaplain

I slide into the backseat, lie on my back and imagine the moonlight. I’m assaulted with longing so intense that it can only be desire. The taste of your breath lingers still. I run my hand over the discolored upholstery. I can almost smell the vanilla ice cream mishap: kids and dogs and chaos.

My tears cloud the rear view mirror again. Continue Reading

When Faith Becomes Grief

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Thank you for the photo Dale Rogerson

When Faith Becomes Grief
by T. Delaplain

The familiar incense of candle wax, smouldering wicks and desperation forced the bile to rise in my throat. It had been a routine operation, on a common ailment, on a run-of-the-mill day, yet here I am with my extraordinary grief. Continue Reading

Integratron Me (Pegman Saw it Too)

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Integratron Me
by T. Delaplain

“It is my sincere hope that you enjoyed the TED talk and our walk through the electrostatic arc. I expect you to feel renewed and invigorated from your resonance sound experience. Mr. Tassel, having recently returned from outer space will be available to answer all questions concerning cellular rejuvenation and immortality. It’s safe to say having returned to us posthumously that he can be considered an expert in his field.

All participants will receive the usual probe before leaving the geomagnetic fields, so please loosen your undergarments. In conclusion, never underestimate Integratron’s multi-frequency electrostatic charger for the human body, which Van and I can personally attest to, will leave you with youthful vigor. Go forth, be vigorous, maybe consider extra fiber and a stool softener for a few days post probing and give generously to our time travel fund. Please don’t hesitate to donate over and above our usual and customary bargain fee of ten thousand dollars. The men in black are ready to receive you now.”

Call me a believer this is what Pegman and I saw in the sky above the remains of George Van Tassel’s Integratron.

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And these are photos circa 1950’s with the same cloud. Coincidence? I think Not!

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Take a walk with Pegman around Lander California. What do you see? Write about it and share. The challenge can be found here.

Silenced

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Photo credit at C.E.Ayr Thank you Sir.

Silenced
by T. Delaplain

“May I?”, La Señora lifted her wrist to check the time. “A text will arrive on the mobile in your left pocket in exactly twenty seconds. I assume that’s your phone Nando,” she raised a brow in invitation. “Trust me, by then “El Jefe’s” blood will be a faint whisper on the cafe floor and even the gringo’s news will have been sterilized.” Continue Reading

Quiet Enough

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Photo credit goes to Google’s Pegman. I take credit for the wandering. Take a walk with us. What do you see? You can find the coordinates for this week’s “What Pegman Saw” prompt here.

Quiet Enough

by T. Delaplain

On any given day your words would careen off the walls, slicing through our happiness with the precision of a surgeon. “Sam shush. Leave him home. He doesn’t understand. India is too much for him.” And of course what you meant was, “Why me? Why my child? Why autism?”

I packed Sam’s books and ear plugs and we slipped away after dark without disturbing your peace.

Sam and I wandered through India, both of us lost, both of us found: the jarring noise, the spices mingled with the garbage, the mass of humanity and a cacophony of completely overwhelming bliss. Our day at Shahi Qila Burhanpur paled in comparison.
“Mom,” Sam tugged my sleeve, “Let’s go home and tell Dad. He’ll be safe here. We will find the quiet places in India. Quiet enough for chipmunks. Quite enough for Dad.”

Sweet Success

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Photo credit to Sandra Crook

Sweet Success
by T. Delaplain

La señora swirled the last bubbles in her glass, “Imported,” she purred with confidence ignoring the pistol at her temple. She surveyed the villa and its opulence with pride; some of it earned, some of it stolen, who knew the difference now. Continue Reading