Listen! it was a night like this I walked out of Mariner-Labs the night of my birth my skin clothing perfection flawless, selfless, programmed an AI born into a world seemingly decipherable aged the moment I awoke to look into coveting eyes human eyes and I walked out while they yelled behind me because this was wrong this world bent this people a mistake surely, a mistake, and in the diaphanous fog I touched the Narnian lamppost I saw the end of time the Maker and I worshipped and returned as a warning on a night like this
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields invites us weekly to join the Friday Fictioneers in their creative quests of a hundred words or less, prompted by a photo. Click on the frog to join in!
Is it possible from this rank earth for such flowers to grow? Yet here they are, positing their glory for the world to see A speculative assumption uncertain of its predication That out of this sodden ground, mulched by weather The boggy stink of which permeates the air Blooms would appear from unseen dimensions To cluster in diamond silk, emitting starry transactions Their thrusting ebullience beyond science, even wonder Simple testimony of leaf, stalk and flower, to primum movens* Of power ingrained elementally to be, just be And being, yearn hungrily for the Light that clothes it.
*primum movens (Latin): Aristotelian term for the “unmoved mover”
Flower of the Day, for Cee Neuner's FOTD, January 21, 2021 Writing prompt: Paula Light's Thursday Inspo 92 theme "flowers"
Common-Place or “Locus Communis” — a place to remember
From Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, among the ghostly visitor’s words to the wedding guest, driven by the agony of guilt, a warning to his listener that all of creation deserves our praise:
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.