Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Retro Writes (Tuesday) #9

The Rules:

Welcome to my new writing challenge!

Every Tuesday I will post some lovely retro-era eye candy as inspiration (think 50's-80's decades).  I will be posting photographs and advertisement ephemera that, perhaps, is quite different from modern day photography in hopes that it may inspire us to come up with parallels and concepts we might not otherwise make with modern art/photography.

Simply write a piece of poetry, fiction, flash fiction, or even create your own art-work.  Anything goes so long as you create/write something original!

Leave a link to your post so I (along with others) can visit and comment.  Please also link back to this page in your original post so others can find it.  

Most of all, have fun creating!

And now, for the prompt.

Retro Writes (Tuesday) #9

Look at the advertisement photo for a few moments and allow yourself to be inspired.

Here is my contribution:

The Water-Watcher

She readjusted her hat and leaned against the weathered wall of the old boat.  The red brick was cool against her back and she breathed deeply.  The smell of salt assailed the soft skin of her face but she didn't mind; the sting reminded her she was still alive.

She gripped the metal bars and threw her head back, allowed a strong sea-wind to play a six-string love song between the wilderness of her hair.  So curly it was that her father once likened it to trees warped beneath a Southern sort of cyclone, tufts pointing hap-hazardously  in directions that defied hair products (and gravity).

She didn't mind her harried site.  She only knew she loved the pier, the ocean side, how the waves reminded her of time.  It's steady breath-beat dividing space and surrendering to whatever elements the weather recommended.  It was a liquid mountain caught between the rush of life and she longed to be that strong, meditated against the flashing cerulean shades of blue and the birds who always called random 'hello's' to wayward water-watchers like herself before diving into it's depths.  

The ocean-side was steadfast, un-moving, and she found it mythical how the sand never withered, how the sea steadily coughed up secret treasures full of shells and crystal across it's deep white Peruvian rug.

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