One of my close friend’s daughter has just come back from travelling around Australia. I followed her on Instagram and my favourite videos were of the stunning waterfalls. The whoosh of the water and its sheer power is immense. So your prompt this week is
WATER
What does the word mean to you? A lack of water? Paddling in the sea? Learning to swim? An annoying tap forever dripping in the bathroom?
I always enjoy seeing what you come up with if the prompt gives you inspiration, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt SPECIAL PLACES.
My special place is the beach. I love it there. I love to listen to the ocean, the waves as they lap against the shore.
Here is my poem about my special place.
When life grows loud and days feel long,
I drift away where I belong—
To where the shoreline meets the sky,
My worries fade, the seagulls cry.
The ocean hums a lullaby,
Soft whispers in the breeze float by,
And every grain beneath my toes
Knows stories only silence knows.
The salt, the sun, the open air,
Are comforts that I find nowhere.
Each wave that breaks and curls away
Washes the weight of thought away.
Here, time slows down—no need to race,
The beach, my calm, my sacred place.
It holds my heart, it knows my name,
A refuge no one else can claim.
I had one in undergrad. I would go and look out at the St. Mary’s River for a moment’s peace amid the stress of college life, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting on a bench. Sometimes I would walk through the gravestones in the church cemetery.
Like Esther, we had a special tree, ours being in the New Forest.
We’d found an old elm, badly battered and scarred, but standing tall and proud about a mile in from the car park.
There were broken branches, gnarled knots and lumps, some resembling, to us, wicked witches, and on one side, a baby’s face.
We felt the tree reflected our life, the knocks we’d taken over the years, and how we’d refused to give in. It was Our Place, and whenever we visited, which was at least twice a month, we always left with a clearer and less troubled mind.
I fell asleep on a bed of leaves in those early days, with Kizzy keeping watch. I awoke to see Hubby (to be) sitting on the fallen trunk of an adjacent tree just gazing into space. There’s a picture in our collage of that moment.
We adopted it as Our Tree, modestly decorating it at Christmas and removing those decorations on January 1st. The bark was always warm to the touch, it was a living thing after all, and we buried bottles with notes inside in the roots, careful not to cause damage as we hollowed out a space on both sides on those two occasions.
We shared this place once, to a couple who could not see any significance to its age, size and survival. It was a tree in the forest, like hundreds of others to them.
We wished we had never taken them there, it was as if they had tainted something special and precious, and it hurt.
We’d estimated it to be about 125 years old judging by its girth and the number of rings we could count on a broken limb. We hope it is still standing as the last time we saw it was 18 years ago.
My special place the place I go to escape life is inside my own head, I like to sit and close my eyes and think about random stuff.
I adore places,
That are special to someone . . .
As well as for me.
My Safe Haven
i could wander miles and miles away,
yet i would still choose to stay—
in that place, in that moment,
where we first held hands.
i could paddle through
the strongest currents, the fiercest waves,
yet j would still choose to return—
to the place and time
we faced our first great storm.
i could live in paradise,
or craft a world of my own,
yet i know i’d still choose you—
my paradise,
my beautiful world.
my safe haven.
Nicola Daly:
Going to my special place is like taking a step out of time: Hadrian’s Wall.
Once known as the Roman Wall, it stretches 73 miles coast to coast from east to west and was constructed nearly 2000 years ago over a 10 year period. Built as a symbol of the might of Rome and marking the most northern edge of the Empire, it had a fort every 7 miles (16 in total), watchtowers every mile with turrets in between, and measured 10 feet wide and 15 feet high. Each block of stone was hewn in local quarries, transported and slotted into place. I never cease to be both awed and humbled by this remarkable feat of Roman engineering.
Brush your fingers over the rough stone and step through layers of history. Hear the echoes of the men torn from southern lands who built and served on this northern frontier, their voices now whispers in the wind, bones turned to dust. Who were they? How did they end up in this harsh and rugged land?
Looking northwards, undulating moorland stretches into the distance and the feint outline of distant hills blends into the muted grey layers of cloud, so low it’s impossible to know where land and sky begin and end. The land is boggy, the wind relentless, and even when the sun shines, this is a remote and desolate wilderness: damp, windswept, and heartachingly beautiful.
This special place is the source of my inspiration and my soul home.
My Special Place
There’s a special place in my heart
I keep just for you
My youngest, my sunshine boy
The one I kept alive
Through determination and willpower
Every word you say
Every action you take
I wrap in fine tissue
And store in my special place
Where they will be with me always
My treasure trove of memories
Little one,
You are my greatest achievement
***
A little waterfall I came across on a walk one day
Esther Chilton 
Leave a reply to T. W. Dittmer Cancel reply