The Journey

The Journey

Thursday photo prompt: Journey #writephoto


He had to find her. His innocent child that had been taken from him in the dead of night. Why?  He had done nothing wrong and neither had his beautiful daughter Samira. She was still a mere child of ten and two, but these barbaric men would take children because they could. He tried not to think of what might be happening to her. He knew she would be terrified. Her poor mama died tragically. Samira was his only living child. He would have no meaning left in his life should he not find her.

The barbarians thought of little girls as ready for marriage, but Samira was not yet a young lady. This thought just nearly destroyed him. His tears ran down his face like rain; a storm of fear, anger and grief. He would find them, those who took her, and Allah willing, praise be to God, he would save her from the dirty hands of men.

He knew his journey would hazardous and long, with neither provisions nor weapons. They had horses, food, water, and weapons. They were from the north and often went on their raids farther south were poor farmers, like him, eked out a living that provided barely enough food for the two of them.

He would stop his search for the night before sundown. He would find a strong tree with branches strong enough to hold through the night. He would wrap his summer shawl around himself and attach it to the tree branch. His walking stick he would use to provide protection from the wild dogs, boars, and other dangerous creatures that roamed at night.

The moon would be full for a few more days until the new moon keep the night dark, except for the radiant light from the stars. Soon it would be time to rest. He had little food left and even less water. He knew how to starve and still live, but without water, the body shrivels and dies in just a few days.

As the sun was beginning to set on the horizon with brilliant colors jewels in ruby, amber, and gold. The day was ending soon, and he searched for a tree to sleep in. Trees were not numerous in this province, yet to his surprise he was very close to a tall tree with strong sturdy branches and leafy foliage. There might even be a fruit, nuts or seeds to eat. Fruit would give him fluid and energy.

He climbed the tree with his bare feet and hands, tied himself to a strong branch. To his amazement the tree had little red fruit of a kind he had never seen. He was aware of the danger of eating fruit unknown to him, knowing that some fruit, seeds and nuts where highly poisonous. If the tree were full of fruit it was a sign that the fruit was poisonous as birds would avoid the fruit.

Amar saw that some of the fruit had been eaten and there was no sign of dead birds, so he ate a handful. He made him feel full, but strange as well. He prayed for rain. As the night wore on Amar began to feel ill and he hoped the fruit wouldn’t kill him.

By morning, Amar was near death, but he was not aware of this change in himself. He was at his small farm with his daughter Samira and his wife was cooking over a small flame. Everything was going well, and he was happy with his family, his farm and his hopes for a good marriage for Samira when she was old enough. He felt tired so he lay down on the small handmade cot in their adobe hut and took his last breath.

A year later a group of military men stopped at the same place and camped under the same tree that was full of leafy branches and berries. One man climbed up the tree to gather and cook the berries to kill the poison that he knew was in the fruit.

He was shocked to find the skeleton of a man still tied to the fruit tree and he shook his head. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had seen what the poisonous fruit could do to humans.



Welcome to Karen DeMers Dowdall, Our Newest Sister of the Fey

Colleen, Thank you for such a lovely welcoming. I am so delighted to be here and to be part of the Sisters of the Fey. I will be posting my first post on September 1. Thank you again all my Sisters of the Fey for welcoming me in such a lovely way. Karen Anna♥️

The Sisters of the Fey

Our author/blogging collaboration continues to grow with the addition of our newest Sister of the Fey, Karen DeMers Dowdall, AKA Karen Anna Dowdall. Welcome Karen Anna!

Karen DeMers Dowdall, AKA Karen Anna

Karen will share posts related to psychic skills that are actually a part of what Fairies, Witches, Seers, Mermaids, Nymphs, and Empathic people do naturally or are learned skills. She will also discuss paranormal occurrences. I know everyone will give her a warm welcome. ❤

Meet Karen DeMers Dowdall

Karen DeMers Dowdall was born in New England and spent her elementary-grade school years in Granby, Connecticut. She graduated from Florida Atlantic University with a bachelor’s degree in nursing, a master’s degree in clinical research nursing, and a Ph.D. in Clinical Nutrition.

Karen is also a lover of ballet, jazz, ballroom dance, contemporary dance, and has had her own dance studio. She also has directed and choreographed stage productions…

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Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives -#PotLuck #BookReview – Educated by Tara Westover Reviewed by Chuck Jackson

Chuck does an incredible review of Tara Westover’s non-fiction bestseller, Educated, and I  felt what Tara went through emotionally and how she prevailed was exhilarating on the other hand. Chuck Jackson writes with empathy and pain and does it very well indeed. Stunning. Chuck Jackson has two non-fictions that reveal his own dsyfuntional family and the terrible trauma he also suffered, but again with an amazing ability to rise above it and prevail beautifully. Thank you for sharing Sally.

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

Welcome to the series of Posts from Your Archives, where bloggers put their trust in me. In this series, I dive into a blogger’s archives and select four posts to share here to my audience.

If you would like to know how it works here is the original post:

This is the final post for authorChuck Jackson and I have selected a book review that he wrote for Educated, a memoir by Tara Westover

Educated by Tara Westover Reviewed by Chuck Jackson

“If [J. D.] Vance’s memoir offered street-heroin-grade drama, [Tara] Westover’s is carfentanil, the stuff that tranquilizes elephants. The extremity of Westover’s upbringing emerges gradually through her telling, which only makes the telling more alluring and harrowing. . . . By the end, Westover has somehow managed not only to capture her unsurpassable exceptional upbringing, but to make her current situation seem not so exceptional…

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Sue Vincent’s Write Photo Photo Prompt: Within







I gaze, thoughtfully, at the bright blue sky and then the barren earth. There is only so much time left for me. I am only fourteen years old. I am in hiding, but it won’t be long before I am found. The few of us left in this desolate place are quickly taken into slavery or worse—gunned down on sight. The rebel army from the mountains will find me too. I try not to be scared, but the wondering and the waiting are perhaps worse than what might actually happen to me. If they don’t find me, I will probably starve to death and I don’t wish for either ending.

My mind wanders now, lack of water to drink is leading to dehydration, and then I pray for rain, but thus far, prayer as not changed my situation. I am reduced to licking up dew on the rocks. Rain would be so wonderful, but in the now almost barren piece of landscape, I am also afraid of the wild dogs; once family pets. They are now as wild and hungry as I am.

I was lucky to find this hiding place on a rocky mound. It gives me a safe place to hide and to sleep, but the moon is so bright that it is hard to sleep and night time gives me little safety. The wild dogs hunt day and night. I am safe for now, because then can’t reach me in my hiding place. My memories of home and family just make me sad, so I try not to think of them or wonder what happened to them. I fear that they must be enslaved or dead by now.

I climb up to my rocky crevice—it is warm and comforting. I watch the moon’s light dance across the land that I can still see from my safe place. I must have fallen asleep because I am awoken by voices and I don’t move a muscle or hardly breathe.  The voices, could it be or am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.

“Clara, if you are here please call out to us, we miss you and we can only stay a few minutes before we must leave this god foretaken place forever.”

“Mom? Mom? Is that you?  I thought you were gone or dead?”

“My sweet girl, we came to find you and please hurry, we must go now.”

“I am coming.” I quickly climb now and I find my mother, father, and little brother all looking up at me with big smiles.

We gather around each other and then my dad picks me up and carries me. I must be as light as a feather. My dad leads the way and I see a Jeep waiting not far away. We move quickly, almost at a run.  My young brother and I are placed in the back seat and they climb into the front. “Seat belts please,” I hear my dad say. Dad starts the Jeep just as mom closes the Jeep’s right side door.

“Where are we going?” I whisper, to afraid to say anything above a whisper.

My mom answers back, “To a beautiful place across the sea where we will all be safe from all the guns and all the senseless killings and destruction. We will be taking a ship to a faraway place where there are no guns, no destruction.”

I smile and take a deep breathe and exhale slowly. I am home at last with my family. I watch as the barren landscape appears to disappear as clouds of dust billow behind us. An exciting adventure awaits are family, I muse, as well as a safe place to live and to grow up!  I sit back, sigh, and wonder, is there really no other choice but to run away from the country we once loved? And, what happens to all the others who wish for peace and a good life, but have no means of escape? My moment of glee dissolves into sadness and regret.

#writephoto regulars: Meet Kevin Parish

Beautiful, beautiful, and so heartfelt – the anguish almost hurts. To intensely feel what the poet feels, in SILHOUETTED SOUL by Kevin Parish, is an experience not soon forgotten. Breath-taking! I also went to Kevin’s blog and read several other breath-taking poetry. Kevin does not write with a veil, he take you deep within his heart and soul. Stunning!

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

I asked the writephoto challenge cntributors if they would like to come over and introduce themselves. Without those of you who write and read the pieces inspired by the weekly photos, the writephoto prompt would not exist.

So, if you follow or take part in the weekly challenge, why come over and introduce yourself too? Being a regular does not mean taking part every week… so why not drop me a line?

Today we meet Kevin Parish of What Words May Come.

Thank you for the invitation to be a part of your blog in a different way!

While I contribute to the WritePhoto prompt I don’t do so on a regular basis.  When my inspiration hits me I write.  If the photo prompt triggers me… I write.  Ha…

So, with that being said, here is a little about me. Inline image

I work full-time for a biotech company in…

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