Oct 20 2008
Word Shot – 20 October, 2008
I was impressed with the contributions for last week’s “fairy on the roof” Word Shot. Many of the written commentaries – both long and short – were rewardingly imaginative and made me want to read more. (You can read them here. Look for the “Comments” at the end of the post.) Thank you all for participating. I hope you can feel your writing muscles growing stronger and longer. As for those of you who didn’t participate, try it this time. You’ll like it.
Here’s the new Word Shot photo for the coming week….
You might say, “How can that be a human interest photo? There are no humans in it.” Actually, it’s the absence of humans in the photo that gives it human interest potential, in my humble opinion. Look at it. Meditate on it. Then give your imagination reign. There’s something a bit spooky about this shot … or is that just my warped mind?
When you’re ready to participate in this Word Shot, simply submit your short or long commentary on the photo in the comment area below the post (go to “Leave a Reply” below). And don’t forget to check out others’ submissions for this Word Shot in the coming week. Finally, please don’t think you have to be a great writer to participate. This exercise is for all of us! The object of the game is to become a more powerful writer.
Need a bribe to participate? Okay, here it is: If you participate in 10 Word Shots, let me know via e-mail and I’ll e-mail you all three of my e-manuals.
Good luck and have fun!
This was a happy place once, but that’s all changed now. Gone are the days of laughter and joy. Gone are all those dreams that seemed so bright.
This place is a reminder now. A reminder of just how fast the world can change.
We used to swing those chains; swing back to back, our limbs outstretched, star sprayed as a butterfly tied to chains. How do these luminous butterflies slouch back to caterpillars? Not even that caterpillar fertile with butterfly, but a new creature, wrapped in the burnt and painful colors of dead wings. Dead wings, dead as talent and ability. How do the limbs of glowing children vanish? Like nevermore ghost, white and dewy, of playgrounds rusting with colorful curls? That was us, where we’d been. When we were children. Its a tunnel of light that was never there. I think we knew, as children, that there was no light, that we were walking away from butterflies. For those people, our parents with burnt wings, they stood away, as if the playground were some memory they were afraid of. So hopeful to us was every single, happy uncle of ours that still spun and swung, clambered with us, false wings or not.
The children are gone now, fighting a war they don’t understand nor approve of.
“Oh my God…” I whispered more to myself than to anyone around within earshot, “son, look”.
“Huh?” he queried as he pulled the I-Pod buds out of his ears, “whad’ja say Dad?”
“Over there, check it out.” I replied, as I turned his shoulders a bit to the right so he could face the old playground before us.
At this moment we were the only ones there. You know, it’s a strange feeling to come onto a playground when it is empty, a playground is supposed to be noisy, active, a place where laughter envelops the invisible bubble around the play equipment.
The noise of P.F. Flyers dragging under the swings with each pass.
The smell of warm, slightly acrid dust of Tanbark as it hangs in the air and permeates oh so slightly into your pants and leaves a red trace layer in your socks that you know Mom will get out in the next wash so you can go back and do it again…
The burn of hot metal against your palms on a hot summer day. Hot metal slide rails, but not as hot as the stovetop burner that grandpa once pressed your palm against after he caught you in the basement with his 1966 December issue Playboy and…
“Dad”…”Dad”… “Hey Dad….”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just… uh, what?”
“Wanna have a swing race Dad?” he asked.
“Yeah, your on!” I replied as I tightened my P.F. Flyers and took a long, slow deep breath through my nose letting the smell of Tanbark erase my thoughts and we broke away for the empty swings.
Flying. Higher and higher. Falling. Down and down. I foolishly tried to best Frankie’s highest arc record. I really did but the only way to fly higher was to flip around the pole holding the swing. Neither one of us ever did that. We tried. I was the one who fell out of the swing at the nearly, highest point and broke my arm. I gained a great deal of status amongst my peers for that trick. Today, many years later, I look longingly at the empty swing set. I am nearing fifty. No one is around. The temptation is just too much. I gotta try. I hear the ambulance coming. I see the people standing over me with confused looks. I have no idea what I broke this time. But, I did it. I flew higher than Frankie. I almost made it all the way around. Life is good.
I can only come to the playground when it is empty. I sit and think about how much I would like to go back to the days when I would bring my children down here and push them back and forth in the late afternoon sun. It’s a long time ago and so much of my world has changed since then. I would go back in a heartbeat and this time I would pay attention to the tiny moments that have been lost over time. Watching little children playing here as mine did so long ago pierces my heart. I can only come to the playground when it is empty.
Oh, its play time! But where are the children? This time they
must be in children’s corner. I’m afraid children have been
cornered somewhere! But where?
-I think they are still busy in towing bricks for earning
their bread!
-Or they are still waiting their parents who are busy in
daily drudgery work. They are waiting for lunch to be
prepared at evening!
-Or they are busy in militry traing to save their so
called religion. They have genuine guns instead of
toyguns in their hands!
-Or cruel barbers are shaving their heads for
observance of austerities. Holy men are preparing to
turn them into holy men!
-Or they are waiting their parents who are busy in
their divorce cases or busy in parties!
-Or they are doing their heavy homework given by all
8 subject teachers!
-Or they are busy in playing video games!
Or they are enough smart- who believe that playing in
the garden is an outdated culture!
-Or I’m afraid they are on dating!
-Or they are discussing on ‘global warming’!
-Or this time they are helping their dads to solve this
word shot!
But don’t be pessimist! Be optimistic my friend!
Its holiday time! Children are at country side.They are
enjoying swinging on trees with their native friends!
Jeesh, what an assignment. Up before the crack of dawn, ride across the city, and all to shoot an empty park.
“This Steve sure is crazy,” I thought to myself as I took a couple of parting shots in the slanting sunlight. This had to be the weirdest assignment he’d given me yet. “Hmm, what’s he do with all these wacky photos? ” I wondered.
“Me, I’m gonna start looking for more fashion work, easier hours, nicer girls for sure.” And I left the park to find some morning coffee.