It is amazing that living things found on land resemble those living under the sea. And lest I forget, the mushrooms in the pic below, which resemble the blue bottles of the sea, also have a close resemblance to a non-organic human accessory, the umbrella – used on land – by people.
The tops of the mushrooms appear too heavy for their thin stems, looking ready to topple over at any time. Their milky whiteness invite a bold hand to touch them just to make sure that they are real. Their texture, soft and pliable to the eye may just belie hidden deception.
Nature is resilient and has had millennia of experience in protecting itself. It is not by chance then that uncanny resemblances that radiate across species has evolved over time ensuring the survival of even the most simple organisms.
Random image writing exercise prompt found here.
The image is free to download for my personal use.
Thanks to Heritage Snapper and Imageafter.com for the image.
Also entered in WordPress’s daily prompt – Radiate.
I spent the last two days on a training course, this time as a delegate. For the introductions we had to interview another person and write key attributes on separate stickie notes. As I look on how the other person interpreted what I said, I saw something unexpected, surprising and pleasant reflected back at me…a gradual and gentle shift awakening to a new version of me infused with excitement. Take a look at the photo below.
A forest of anchors the iron hot to the touch, sit like silent sentinels against incursions from the sea. Half buried in the soft white sand of the dunes they are a stark reminder of long ago battles, the thin shadows offering no reprieve from the baking sun.
Wreck shore, they called it, the wood long ago rotted away, the row of anchors the only reminder of battering storms, of life boats hurriedly lowered and of prayers uttered aloud to an unseen god, asking for a reprieve.
The harsh sun beat down upon the thin strip of beach, its sand white against the starkness of the yellow desert beyond. Sand against sand, separated by a black line of anchors. A broken sign lies half buried in the sand, the bits of paint barely holding on to the wood showing a picture of the skull to those who cared to look – the sign offering no reprieve to those who had made it that far.
Image downloaded with permission from Writing Exercises.
Just a paragraph per evening, just one. But just that one is so difficult to write. My inner critic is hard at work and succeeding. I’m not trying to fight the block, I’m not even allowing the resistance to take hold. I get to the end of this sentence and stop…where do I go to next?