Fall Writing Frenzy OFFICIAL Entry Form 2023 (open Oct 1-3rd)

Author-illustrator, Board Books, contest, Contests, Editor, Fun, Kidlit, Kidlit Fall Writing Frenzy, Middle-grade, Picture Books, rhyme, Words, Writers 2 Minutes

Hello everyone,

The #FallWritingFrenzy entry form is officially open from now until October 3rd, 2023 at midnight EST! WOOHOO!


To Officially Enter 2023’s Fall Writing Frenzy:

  • Please review the Fall Writing Frenzy Rules first to make sure you’re all set.
  • If you have ANY questions, check out the Fall Writing Frenzy FAQs.
  • Then, when you’re ready to enter your wonderful submission, scroll down to the FORM below, and fill in all the required fields.
  • Please fill out the form once, and when you do, we will have all your information and you will receive an email verification that you submitted.
  • Note, if you’ve received this post via email, you may need to click and open the blog post in WordPress or a web browser to see the form.

Reminder: please fill out the form between October 1 and October 3, 2022 11:59 PM EST.

  • If you didn’t post to your blog and/or would like to share your entry here, you can scroll to the bottom and paste your story as a comment. But- be sure to fill out the FORM first- we must have that for your entry to be valid.
  • When you’ve submitted, we’d love for you to share on Twitter and tag contest creator, Kaitlyn Sanchez, guest judge Ameerah Holliday, guest judge Ebondy Mudd, and your friends who you want to see a Fall Writing Frenzy entry from, too!
  • Please support one another by reading other entries and commenting on them. To see other people’s entries, scroll down down down to the table directly below. Entries with links to their blogs should appear, simply click on the link, and you will be directed to that writer’s blog.

Please note: the form and the comments are NOT connected. Filling out the form will not create a comment, you have to do that manually. 🙂

Check the FAQs if you have any trouble.

Remember, we will try our best to have winners announced by the end of October, but please be patient so we can give each entry all the time and consideration it deserves. To stay up-to-date on all things for the Fall Writing Frenzy, please subscribe to this blog.

Good luck to all! And thank you so much for sharing your work with us! You are all winners for creating something new, putting yourself out there, and creating such a wonderful and supportive community!

Official Entry FORM for 2023’s Fall Writing Frenzy:

The form is officially closed! Thank you to everyone who entered! Please scroll down to read entries and support each other and click here to find awesome ways to support the prize donors!

Official Entries for 2023’s Fall Writing Frenzy:

Check ’em all out, and thank you all for supporting each other!

Thanks again for taking the time to enter the #FallWritingFrenzy contest and wishing you a lovely start to your fall!

Sincerely,

Kaitlyn Sanchez

Published

569 thoughts on “Fall Writing Frenzy OFFICIAL Entry Form 2023 (open Oct 1-3rd)”

  2. See You Next Spring
    by Nicolette Nuytten

    Above me, a flock of Canada geese,
    fly in a loose V—its tip points the way.
    It’s that time of year, when leaves crack and crease,
    and break down releasing an earthy bouquet.
    At this time of year, the geese cannot stay.

    Geese! I remember (oh, I remember),
    the trouble they made, the tricks that they played.
    Such mischief from April into September,
    as they marched in their waterfowl parade.
    I remember it well, even as their honks fade.

    They snapped and they hissed at innocent kids,
    they bullied and chased the ducks off the pond.
    They ran into the street and made traffic skid,
    they flew into a rage if you went near their spawn.
    And don’t even mention the mess on the lawn.

    Still, as they soar overhead through the clouds,
    with pink sunset hues warming their feathers,
    a feeling of peaceful sweetness abounds,
    making me happy we spent time together.
    All life is a gift from nature to treasure.

    Soon more geese join the autumn airshow,
    and I am almost (almost) sad to see them go.

    Liked by 5 people

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  3. Thank you for putting this together – It was a great challenge!

    OWENSVILLE

    By Jacqueline Lindsey

    The sign read ‘OWINGSVILLE 3 MILES’.

    But Grandma always said she was from ‘Owensville’. It wasn’t until we drove past that sign I realized it was her accent. Tempered from a lifetime away, it still melted thick and sweet on her tongue. Like caramel.

    We looked out the window as she drove.
    I saw a dilapidated schoolhouse. She saw children giggling.
    I saw a collapsed wall. She saw a packed gym cheering.

    When I saw a house leaning on wild grass and better days, Grandma saw home.

    Its screenless door slapped back as leaves crunched under my feet.

    A hole in the roof poured a halo around an object in the corner – the Singer sewing machine that floated among Grandma’s every ‘remember when’.

    I nudged it across the threshold in sharp bursts.
    When it caught on dry grass, I pushed harder.

    As it inched onto the road, Grandma saw many things.

    A mended tear.
    A well-worn quilt.
    A mother’s warmth.

    Grandma’s glance shifted its weight from my arms and back straight down to my core.

    Now, as I sit at that sewing machine, my speech slows to a drawl. I say ‘sewin’’ instead of ‘sewing’.

    Now, I see it all.

    Liked by 11 people

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    8. Beautiful, like a warm hug. I love the lyrical language and the clear physical and emotional pictures you paint.

      Like

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  5. The Finger Mountains (picture 13)
    By Joshua Bass

    September 14, 1975

    My Dearest Gabriel,

    I found our place.

    For fifty-seven days, I’ve ridden the trains, my forehead pressed against the glass window, searching for the perfect spot. I’ve passed deserts too scorched for your tender heart and oceans too vast for your intimate touch. I’ve been mugged once, kicked off more trains than I can count, and haven’t had a warm meal since I left.

    I find comfort in that all of this led me here. Where the rolling greens are adorned with auburn trees, the autumn air is crisp, the distant mountains dusted with snow as pure as you. Oh, the mountains. They guard the town from the blustery winds much like you’ve protected our country. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, but the peaks remind me of your delicate fingers. Waving to me. I sense your presence when I sit in the back pew inside the steepled church, praying this is all a dream. Surrounded by good people who have graciously accepted me into their humble community.

    Tomorrow, I will climb the mountains and spread your ashes among the snow. And every morning I will look upon the finger mountains and smile.

    Liked by 6 people

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    8. I hope we can each wear those rose-colored glasses to inform life and our own view point…and counter point. Great job, Joshua.

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  6. Thanks so much to Kaitlyn and to all the supporting agents and writers. This is great fun!

    Fall Writing Frenzy 2023 – Entry for Photo Number 10/ Josh Hilt (190 words by Marcia Dalphin Williams)

    SUMMER IS OVER

    My body trembles as I watch a spiked short branch pierce my magical summer carpet where I rocked and read stories that carried my mind and body to other worlds.

    My hammock shudders with the force as it stretches and rips. Then a creature in my mind looks up at me as if to say “Did you not recognize the Natterjack, or the adventures you have now lost?

    I shed waterfall tears as the fog lifts a wart covered body toward the heavens through red blood and dying autumn colors. Maybe I am only dreaming.

    The hammock will still rock in October hurricane winds. Will some other critter patch the hole and make a winter home? A mouse, a squirrel, a weasel dressed in winter white? Will graceful snowflakes pile and slowly leak through as spring thaws roots and frozen ground?

    I wonder then if I can sew a patch in my special resting place before my fingers freeze.
    A patch of red, orange, pink and green to remember bright colors that will come again.

    Or, I can take it down, roll it up, and work on it next summer….

    Liked by 2 people

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  7. Fall Surprise
    by Angel Gantnier

    One by one, the chipmunks grabbed a leaf, then hopped on the edge of the hammock and placed the leaf inside.
    “Why are we filling the hammock with leaves?“
    “You’ll see!”
    The chipmunks worked together, and soon the hammock was full of leaves.
    “Why did we fill the hammock with leaves?”
    “It’s a fall surprise!”
    “Watch me!”
    The chipmunk raced up the tree and stood on a branch overlooking the hammock.
    “Weee!”
    Plop!
    “I want to leap in the leaves!”
    “Me too!“
    One by one the chipmunks raced up the tree and leaped.
    “Weee!”
    Plop!

    Liked by 2 people

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  8. Thanks so much Kaitlyn and all the supporting agents and writers. This was fun!

    Fall Writing Frenzy 2023 – Entry for Photo Number 10/ Josh Hilt (190 words by Marcia Dalphin Williams)

    SUMMER IS OVER

    My body trembles as I watch a spiked short branch pierce my magical summer carpet where I rocked and read stories that flew my mind and body to other worlds.

    My hammock shudders with the force as it stretches and rips. Then a creature in my mind looks up at me as if to say “Did you not recognize the Natterjack, or the adventures you have now lost?

    I shed waterfall tears as the fog lifts a wart covered body toward the heavens through red blood and dying autumn colors. Maybe I am only dreaming.

    The hammock will still rock in October hurricane winds. Will some other critter patch the hole and make a winter home? A mouse, a squirrel, a weasel dressed in winter white? Will graceful snowflakes pile and slowly leak through as spring thaws roots and frozen ground?

    I wonder then if I can sew a patch in my special resting place before my fingers freeze.
    A patch of red, orange, pink and green to remember bright colors that will come again.

    Or, I can take it down, roll it up, and work on it next summer….

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  9. Forevergreen
    by Anne Lipton
    (185 words)
    Inspired by Image #13, Photo by Gianluca Grisenti on Pexels.com

    Far beneath the mountain’s crown,
    enchantment cloaks a tiny town
    that sprouted from a magic bean,
    which gave its name: Forevergreen.

    When Springtime fills the valley’s bowl,
    the townsfolk wrap a high Maypole.
    You might even hear them cry,
    “Here we go ’round Maypole high!”

    But come the Fall, they skip the dance,
    to give the regal trees their chance.

    The Sugar Maples march ahead
    like princes in their scarlet red.
    They bow to Birches, bright and bold,
    who curtsy in their gowns of gold.

    Floating goblets fill with streams.
    Pies are topped with clouds and dreams.
    Church bells and the cowbells ring.
    Even barn cats seem to sing.

    The grey geese honk a timeless tune
    before they kiss the Harvest Moon.
    An X and O and X and O
    A do-re-mi for buck and doe.

    The White Oaks waltz while Willows weep.
    One and two and then to sleep.
    But certain trees do not give way.
    They must stand firm; they will not sway.

    Silver needles spangle pines
    standing guard in tall straight lines,
    every one a loyal tree.
    For evergreen they’ll always be.

    Liked by 4 people

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  10. The Road Ahead

    by Sarah Bignotti

    The road ahead

    is unclear

    when I listen to

    self-defeating thoughts.

    A toxic diversion

    that clouds my vision

    like a hazy, dense fog

    on a long winding road.

    I stumble and fall

    as I try to respond

    to each unpredictable

    twist and turn.

    Until I question myself

    and I realize

    there is more.

    I pick myself up.

    I stand tall,

    like an evergreen tree

    that has weathered

    a raging storm.

    I change my perspective

    and think of other ways

    to navigate the course.

    Then, suddenly,

    The fog lifts.

    The road ahead

    becomes clearer.

    And I move forward.

    One step at a time.

    Persisting.

    Believing.

    Achieving.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    4. Lovely! The road of self-doubt we all find, but having the strength to continue following it to the place of positivity and determination- that’s great!

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  11. The Spirit of the Hamaca
    By: Adriana Gutierrez Loza
    Word Count: 199

    The hammock swings, my feet dangle as a cool breeze blows. “Levantate!” calls a faraway voice. Chills… I thought I was alone.

    I sit up and look around- Nada! The evening glows with the last remnants of sunset. My heart beats louder. My mind races as I call out “Who’s there?”

    La hamaca rocks over a sea of autumn leaves. My breathing gets faster. I hear furious ocean waves crash in the back of my throat. The hammock is a ship stuck in a storm. Suddenly, it casts me in the air and I soar.

    My body glides through the cold night sky. I say a prayer. Then, I curse- “Que diablos pasa?
    Thump! Piles of leaves break my fall. The porch light flickers… then goes out. The wind roars and the hammock spins intensely- “Whoooosh!”

    I dart into my house. Slam! The night chill squeeeeezes through the door frame. It whips my journal open, and the voice calls out again. “Ponte las pilas! Write.”

    My shaky hand begins to write as stories flood my brain. I look down and read “The Spirit of the Hamaca.”

    “Escribe tus historias mija, the world yearns for them.” Peace fills my heart.

    Liked by 5 people

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    1. I just ‘love’ how each image evokes such different stories in people’s minds! I felt the tension and adventure rise in yours, not to mention feeling intrigued at the interesting angle you took. Nice job.

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    4. I love the beautiful flow of language and imagery in this piece! It is a little creepy, and a little magical in the best way!

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  12. Witch’s Brew
    By: Laura Polasek
    (Inspired by Image # 4; 149 words)

    The haunted honey tastes so nice,
    And eye of newt adds extra spice.

    A banshee laugh gives a sharp zing,
    And bat wings make the mixture sing.

    Garnish with some liar’s fate,
    And nothing else tastes half as great.

    It is delicious, this is true;
    BUT, beware of Witch’s Brew!

    For if you go and take a drink,
    The outcome’s never what you think.

    It may slide sweetly down your throat,
    Or – you may be turned into a goat!

    You could shrink small, just like a mouse,
    Or end up flying ‘round the house.

    It might make your hair turn blue,
    Or make you speak in squeak and moo.

    If you are lucky, you’ll turn strong,
    But much more likely, things go wrong.

    So – when you see a caldron bubble,
    Remember there’s a chance for trouble,

    And ask yourself – is a yummy treat,
    Worth winding up with chicken feet?

    Liked by 8 people

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  13. Naranja
    By Theresa Tyree

    Color faded when the Monarchs died.

    Their migration once heralded Dia de los Muertos. But as the years passed, fewer came, until all color left was corralled in their rare orange wings.

    Mexico City added the butterflies to their ofreda, creating costumes as stand-ins for the soul-carriers of the visiting dead.

    Mariposa helped. Art could change the world like science. Her partner Ariel believed too, even while working to save the Monarchs from her lab.

    “Mari,” she’d said on her deathbed. “When I’m gone, you must keep dancing.”

    Mariposa embodied the Monarchs easily: black-fitted skeleton suit and weighted wings home more than a sombrero or skirt, hair adorned with grayscale cempasúchil marigolds and wings dyed invisible-orange with achiote seeds—hope lively orange would return.

    Mariposa remembered colors like she remembered the dead.

    That was what the celebration was about.

    Life.

    Joy.

    Remembrance.

    Even her dance was an offering.

    Move with vigor, enough to call Ariel and the butterflies back. Spin fast enough to strike the world into sparking color.

    In the corner of her eye, a flash of bright naranja.

    It felt like home; dancing in the kitchen, in the circle of Ariel’s arms.

    Liked by 5 people

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  14. SPARROWS IN THE MIST
    by Vashti Verbowski
    Inspired by image #2
    (196 words)

    Sparrow plunged into the mysterious mist. She nearly froze her feathers off, but when she landed in the farmer’s field, fully fledged, her flock sang:

    “Chee-rup, chee-rup, sparrows in the mist!”

    That first flight felt like magic, and afterwards, all the sparrows danced and feasted together.

    But that was before the wildfires…
    Before the flock dispersed in the smoke…
    And before Sparrow knew what to do when migration time came.

    Now, Sparrow’s wings felt cold and wet. The air no longer smelled like smoke, but Sparrow couldn’t see a thing.

    “Is it mist?” chirped Sparrow, scanning the sky.

    Fluffing her feathers for warmth, Sparrow plunged into the haze. The cold nipped at her beak, but Sparrow trusted her instincts.

    When she landed, the field was empty.

    Her tail feathers drooped, “They left without me.”

    Then, Sparrow heard music…

    Inside the barn, people and animals were celebrating.
    The fires had taken so much of their harvest, yet they looked so hopeful.

    Filling her lungs with dewy air, Sparrow sang:

    “Chee-rup, chee-rup, sparrows in the mist!”

    Then, like magic, feathery shapes emerged through the grey.

    It was time to migrate.

    But not before they danced and feasted together.

    Liked by 1 person

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  15. [Inspired by 3. Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com]

    A Flicker of Hope (WC: 105)
    Suhasini Gupta (IG- @thesusankam)

    And there we were again,
    ready to celebrate
    the festival of lights
    spreading joy,
    happiness,
    and prosperity.

    The aroma of delicious sweets made our mouths water.
    The smiles brighter than the lights,
    and laughter louder than the fireworks
    filled the quiet house.
    Shimmery clothes,
    glittery jewels,
    and colorful Rangoli dazzled proudly.

    Suddenly, everything went dark!
    Pitch dark…
    spreading the creepiest darkness – that could make one blind
    and scream. HELP!
    No dazzles,
    no glitters,
    no shimmers worked.

    Finally, a flicker of hope –
    a humble diya (lamp) lit up.
    Spreading the warmth of joy,
    the glow of happiness,
    and the sparkle of prosperity.
    Flick- Flick! Happy Diwali!

    Thank you, Kaitlyn and the judges for putting this together!

    Liked by 1 person

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  16. [Ref: 3. Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com]

    A Flicker of Hope
    Suhasini Gupta (@thesusankam)

    And there we were again,
    ready to celebrate
    the festival of lights
    spreading joy,
    happiness,
    and prosperity.

    The aroma of delicious sweets made our mouths water.
    The smiles brighter than the lights,
    and laughter louder than the fireworks
    filled the quiet house.
    Shimmery clothes,
    glittery jewels,
    and colorful Rangoli dazzled proudly.

    Suddenly, everything went dark!
    Pitch dark…
    spreading the creepiest darkness – that could make one blind
    and scream. HELP!
    No dazzles,
    no glitters,
    no shimmers worked.

    Finally, a flicker of hope –
    a humble diya (lamp) lit up.
    Spreading the warmth of joy,
    the glow of happiness,
    and the sparkle of prosperity.
    Flick- Flick! Happy Diwali!

    Thank you, Kaitlyn and the judges for organizing this event.

    Like

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  17. Nicko’s No-Nos
    by @MikkiMcFeve
    199 words inspired by photo #7, child with headphones in golden forest

    “No. No. No,” Nicko utters as Mom’s hand pulls him from place to place in the city.

    A cacophony of honks blare as cars cruise by… No. No. No.
    Nicko puts on his No-No’s (“no noise” headphones).

    Blinding office lights shine on a dizzying carpet… No. No. No.
    Nicko blinks and blinks, squeezing his eyes tight.

    Moving here, sitting there, waiting everywhere… No. No. No.
    Nicko flaps his hands with a force that grows within him.

    After a long, bumpy bus ride brimming with No’s, the sights and sounds of the city fade. They step off the bus and Mom’s hand leads Nicko on a path into the forest. They reach a clearing and her hand lets go of his.

    As a gentle breeze rustles the autumn leaves,
    Nicko takes his No-No’s off his ears.

    Surrounded by sun-glistened golden trees,
    Nicko opens his eyes wide to take in this moment.

    Catching crisp leaves floating down from branches,
    Nicko flaps his hands and frolics in the forest.

    No loud noises.
    No rushing to and fro.
    No place to be but here.

    Lying in a pile of crunchy leaves, looking up in wonder…
    Nicko reaches out to hold Mom’s hand.
    “Yes.”

    Liked by 3 people

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  18. MOM KNOWS
    By Cheryl Simon
    (inspired by #9, 183 words)

    Mom knows how to bake the best chocolate chip cookies with the perfect amount of chocolate chips.

    Mom knows how to brush my hair without making me cry.

    Mom knows how to make veggies taste like candy.

    Mom knows how to tuck me in and where my blankie likes to sleep.

    Mom knows how to tell me a spooky story without making it too scary.

    Mom knows I need some quiet time before I tell her about my day.

    And…

    I hope mom knows she doesn’t have to be at every soccer game for me to know she cares.

    I hope mom knows that I’ll be ok, even if I cry a lot.

    I hope mom knows I’m brave and can make new friends, even when I feel quiet.

    I hope mom knows that even though I am picky, I will eat my lunch and won’t go hungry.

    I hope mom knows that the same bedtime story each night isn’t boring.

    Most of all, I hope mom knows she doesn’t have to be perfect to be the best mom for me.

    Liked by 1 person

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  19. A Flicker of Hope
    Suhasini Gupta (@thesusankam)
    105 words inspired by photo #3, Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

    And there we were again,
    ready to celebrate `
    the festival of lights
    spreading joy,
    happiness,
    and prosperity.

    The aroma of delicious sweets made our mouths water.
    The smiles brighter than the lights,
    and laughter louder than the fireworks
    filled the quiet house.
    Shimmery clothes,
    glittery jewels,
    and colorful Rangoli dazzled proudly.

    Suddenly, everything went dark!
    Pitch dark…
    spreading the creepiest darkness – that could make one blind
    and scream. HELP!
    No dazzles,
    no glitters,
    no shimmers worked.

    Finally, a flicker of hope –
    a humble diya (lamp) lit up.
    Spreading the warmth of joy,
    the glow of happiness,
    and the sparkle of prosperity.
    Flick- Flick! Happy Diwali!

    Thanks Kaitlyn and the judges for organizing this amazing writing contest.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  20. The Senses of Autumn

    by Lauren N. Simmons

    (Inspired by image #7; 199 words)

    Why is everything about school so hard? Fall is the worst.

    I’m getting dressed… There’s an itchy tag in my shirt. It’s more than I can stand. My socks go up too high. I miss summer and less clothes.

    Mom drives me to school. Ava pulls out her pacifier and cries all the way. Her loud screams hurt my ears. Mom says to be patient… I did that when I was little, too.

    I arrive at school… to find out that there is an assembly. We met our goal for the big fundraiser! Our reward? A big dance party is starting… NOW. All the kids in one large room are much louder than my sister could ever be! Adding strobe lights just makes my head hurt. Without thinking, I put my hands over my ears and scream. Other kids look at me like I’ve ruined their fun time.

    Later, Mom picks me up. She says it’s time for just me and her. We head to Central Park. The leaves are golden yellow. The air is crisp and so comfortable. Mom hands me my noise cancelling headphones as we walk. This is my idea of fun. Fall is the best.

    Liked by 3 people

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  21. You and Me, Buddy
    By Deborah Ishii
    198 Words

    I watch the highway below from the hilltop among the towering pines. I had waited for hours at the side of that road for him to come back and take me home.
    Home, my bed, my bowl. my toys. We needed to get home to play tug-of-war and wrestling on the carpet. We needed to be together. Buddies, he called us. You and me, buddy, just you and me.
    Then, it wasn’t just the two of us. Someone with a softer voice came to live with us. She didn’t like me and wanted it to be just the two of them.
    I could feel his frustration and anger grow the more she complained about me. Finally, we went for a drive and he stopped, told me to jump out and then he drove away.
    People stopped and tried to get me into their cars, so I climbed the hill away from the highway to wait for him. I know he’ll be back to get me.
    We need to be together. Buddies, he called us. Buddies forever.
    I watch the highway below from the hilltop among the towering pines, waiting for him to come back and take me home.

    Liked by 3 people

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  23. Tonight’s Shapeshift (YA)
    by: Kris DeCaro @MusingMomMumble
    170w Inspired by picture #2 trees in the mist

    Tonight’s shapeshift went monstrously wrong.

    Not paying attention to the full moon cycle – that’s how you end up upside down in a pine tree after eating soup for dinner.

    I felt stupid…and sloshy.

    Why’d it have to be vampires this time?

    Working to keep dinner down (or maybe up?), I thought about trying harder to break the curse. If I didn’t, one day I’d be stuck as whatever monster du jour the moon magic picked. Not ideal.

    But wasn’t it better to be a bullied, friendless, teenage loser with a dark fantastical secret?

    A deep voice laughed as feet crunched dry pine needles below.“Hand over the candy LOSER!”

    The soup instantly solidified in my stomach. A different kid, a different bully – but the scene was eerily familiar.

    My tongue slid across sharp fangs. Would it be worth it? I’d always been too scared of sparking a witch hunt to use the monster’s power.

    A cry echoed through the misted trees.

    But it was Halloween, and on Halloween monsters were expected.

    Liked by 4 people

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  24. Silly Goose by Keren Dibbens-Wyatt

    “Mama!” said Little Goose, as the flock headed south for the holidays, “that so-oh-ever-so big bird is going the wrong way!”
    “Honk!” laughed mama goose from the middle of the line. “That’s no bird! That’s a plane!”
    “A what?”
    “A tin full of humans,” said big sister goose, “that has learnt to fly.”
    “Wow!” said Little Goose. “Should we make friends with it?”
    “Then we could point it the right way,” said baby brother goose.
    “Honk honk!” said uncle goose bringing up the rear. “Stay away! It fills itself with people and if you go near, it will eat you too!”
    “Silly goose!” laughed papa goose, ruffling Little Goose’s feathers. “You can’t make friends with metal. It is cold and hard.”
    “And hear how it roars!” said baby brother goose, as the plane zoomed off into the distance. Little Goose shivered in the cool of the air as the sun began to tuck itself up for the night. The plane was soon a black speck, and she was glad.
    The clouds turned their magic colours of pink and gold against the darkening blue, and the soft quiet was broken only by the swish of grey wings.

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  25. Nana’s Banana Bread

    By Rebecca Ensign

    WC: 200

    Picture: #12

    The smell of ripe bananas, sugar and butter fills the air

    as Nana makes her Banana Bread.

    She mixes, she mashes and then pours the batter into a muffin pan.

    “I’m making this for you because I love you” she says as she squeezes my hand.

    And we share a piece together.

    “My belly is very happy” I say and Nana smiles.

    Nana forgets our names sometimes.

    But, she still makes her banana bread

    She mixes, she mashes, she pours and then bakes.

    And we share a piece together.

    Nana squeezes my hand and smiles.

    “That was yummy!” I say.

    Nana doesn’t know who Mommy and I are anymore.

    But, she still makes her banana bread.

    She mixes, she mashes, pours and then bakes.

    And we share a piece together.

    She squeezes my hand, but her eyes have lost their spark.

    “I love your banana bread” I tell her.

    Nana has forgotten how to make her banana bread.

    So Mommy and I make it for her.

    We mix, mash, pour and bake.

    And then we share a piece with Nana.

    “We made this for you because we love you” I say.

    I give Nana’s hand a squeeze and she smiles.

    Liked by 9 people

    Reply

    10. This is fantastic. Reminds me of my grandmother’s pancakes, her signature dish – she had Alzheimer’s and forgot how to make them, but they could never be replicated, much to my mother’s dismay.

      Like

      Reply

  26. OL’ GNARLEEN
    By Linda Staszak 167 words

    Once upon a Halloween
    There lived a goblin named Gnarleen.
    Boy, oh boy, she sure was mean—
    She snarled at butterflies.

    Smashing pumpkins was her thing.
    Smooth and plain or carved with bling—
    She picked them up and with a fling
    They SPLAT against a wall.

    But one day when she grabbed a squash,
    The pumpkin squeaked out, “Oh my gosh!”
    Gnarleen—it’s you! You have panache!
    But veggies are beneath you.”

    Gnarleen was shocked, appalled, intrigued.
    “The throwing’s tough—I am fatigued.”
    The pumpkin smirked, a touch of greed.
    Her plan was working fine.

    She led Gnarleen to trick-or-treaters.
    “Goblins should scare candy eaters.
    They’ll drop their bags—it’s so much neater.”
    (“And that is good for me!”)

    Gnarleen began her scare crusade.
    It worked—the children were afraid.
    The ‘pumpkin’ shed her masquerade
    And grabbed the candy and ran.

    And that is why, on Halloween,
    If you should run into Gnarleen,
    Don’t say a word, don’t make a scene,
    Just let her smash her pumpkins.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  27. Inspired by #3 Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

    A Flicker of Hope (WC: 105)
    Suhasini Gupta (@thesusankam)

    And there we were again,
    ready to celebrate
    the festival of lights
    spreading joy,
    happiness,
    and prosperity.

    The aroma of delicious sweets made our mouths water.
    The smiles brighter than the lights,
    and laughter louder than the fireworks
    filled the quiet house.
    Shimmery clothes,
    glittery jewels,
    and colorful Rangoli dazzled proudly.

    Suddenly, everything went dark!
    Pitch dark…
    spreading the creepiest darkness – that could make one blind
    and scream. HELP!
    No dazzles,
    no glitters,
    no shimmers worked.

    Finally, a flicker of hope –
    a humble diya (lamp) lit up.
    Spreading the warmth of joy,
    the glow of happiness,
    and the sparkle of prosperity.
    Flick- Flick! Happy Diwali!

    Thanks, Kaitlyn and the judges for this amazing writing contest!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    3. I love your line “Spreading the warmth of joy, the glow of happiness, and the sparkle of prosperity.” So beautiful! Good luck!

      Like

      Reply

  28. The Witch Keeps Watch (YA)
    By Alia Kirsch
    109 words
    Inspired by: Image 2

    The witch sat on her perch, peering through the newly bare branches.
    The road was mercifully empty,
    For now.
    But soon the fall frolickers would come careening around the bend.
    Admiring the autumn leaves, they wouldn’t see the shadows.
    Rocking to the radio, they wouldn’t hear the hum.
    Bundled up in fuzzy fleece, they wouldn’t feel the fog
    Of the woods that would never let them leave.
    She knew her powers had caused all this,
    A hundred autumns ago, when she was young and allowed love’s enchantment to carry her away.
    But she also knew that she was powerless to stop
    The fall frolickers from meeting her Fate.

    Liked by 4 people

    Reply

  29. The Wrong Potion!
    By Kathleen MacEachern
    Image #12

    I think we drank the wrong potion,
    or missed an ingredient or five,
    I seem to be a grown-up now,
    and you’re barely still alive!

    The recipe said to add one newt,
    A strand of dark grey hair,
    A small piece of wool or cotton,
    And large green underwear.

    The potion will only last one day,
    Then quickly we’ll change back,
    I think I liked it better,
    When my knees didn’t creak n’ crack!

    I guess our plans will need to change,
    We won’t be able to go,
    I don’t think grandma would be welcome,
    Your dancing is too slow.

    I do admit that this feels silly,
    How did it go so wrong?
    I guess we’ll make the best of it,
    At least it won’t last long.

    If I think about it deeply,
    It could be really neat,
    We could scare our friends and family,
    Or even hand out treats.

    We could go out by ourselves,
    Without a chaperone,
    For the first time in forever,
    We could trick or treat alone!

    We’ll have to change our costumes,
    They just don’t fit this style,
    We have to go as grown-ups now,
    So don’t forget to smile!

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

  30. Making Magic
    Kelly Kates
    WC: 200

    Once upon an autumn day, in a far away land–okay, not that far, but it took forever to get there–lived a beautiful princess. Actually, she was quite average looking, but cleaned up nicely when she brushed her hair. She lived with her father and evil stepmother. Though, now that I think about it, the stepmother played board games with the princess for hours.

    It was the day of the big ball or, I guess, it was the royal soccer game, but the princess couldn’t go until she cleaned her room. Where was her fairy godmother with the glass slippers? Or at least with her soccer cleats which could not be found? Despite wishing, no fairy appeared. She would have to make the magic happen herself.

    She wasn’t good at whistling while she worked, but blasting her favorite tunes made the job go faster. The clock wasn’t going to strike midnight, but she set a timer to make cleaning a game. And, of course, she was on the hunt for the buried cleat treasure.

    After a frenzied hour, she’d cleaned her room and unearthed the shoes. Triumphantly, the princess rode off in her pumpkin minivan, with her biggest cheerleader, her stepmother.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  31. OL’ GNARLEEN
    By Linda Staszak
    167 words

    Once upon a Halloween
    There lived a goblin named Gnarleen.
    Boy, oh boy, she sure was mean—
    She snarled at butterflies.

    Smashing pumpkins was her thing.
    Smooth and plain or carved with bling—
    She picked them up and with a fling
    They SPLAT against a wall.

    But one day when she grabbed a squash,
    The pumpkin squeaked out, “Oh my gosh!”
    Gnarleen—it’s you! You have panache!
    But veggies are beneath you.”

    Gnarleen was shocked, appalled, intrigued.
    “The throwing’s tough—I am fatigued.”
    The pumpkin smirked, a touch of greed.
    Her plan was working fine.

    She led Gnarleen to trick-or-treaters.
    “Goblins should scare candy eaters.
    They’ll drop their bags—it’s so much neater.”
    (“And that is good for me!”)

    Gnarleen began her scare crusade.
    It worked—the children were afraid.
    The ‘pumpkin’ shed her masquerade
    And grabbed the candy and ran.

    And that is why, on Halloween,
    If you should run into Gnarleen,
    Don’t say a word, don’t make a scene,
    Just let her smash her pumpkins.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  32. Bittersweet
    Cheryl A. Johnson
    WC 193
    Images 7 & 10

    It was a prickly, missing Auntie something fierce, kind of day.

    “Healing and dealing,” chattered Bittersweet as she added

    flowers in a vase
    a sprinkling of red berries
    and fresh greenery

    She was learning that it was possible to have a prickly pleasant day, as Auntie used to
    say.

    Bittersweet was a beautiful-sounding word Auntie had cooed into her ear when she
    was a porcupette, so beautiful that it became her name when Auntie took her home to
    raise.

    She gently lifted the gift and held it to her heart.

    haiku poetry
    made together by moonlight
    a book bound with love

    She tucked Auntie’s favorite flower behind her ear, took a deep breath, and opened the
    door. Bittersweet meandered in the beauty of the woods, savoring their favorite place.

    a swift babbling brook
    large blooms swaying in the breeze
    scent of woody ferns

    Today Bittersweet had given herself the space she needed. And there in the middle of
    the woods were all her buddies. She handed the gift to her best friend, “Happy birthday!
    From me … and Auntie.”

    Bittersweet would do as Auntie asked, to live fully …
    in the bittersweet.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  33. Autumn’s Confetti

    Her dark curls bounced as she ran to me, but they were the only part of her that seemed to be having any fun. I didn’t even have to ask to know that she’d struggled during the school day. Sitting still and being quiet was not something her always-on-the-go body and mile-a-minute brain excelled at.

    She took my hand, and we began the journey home. The sidewalk was littered with autumn’s confetti. Fiery red maples mixed with the amber ash leaves crunching beneath our feet. Vivi dropped my hand and slipped her backpack off.

    “Hold this?” she asked.

    I took the bag and she started running for the clearing between the playground and a patch of woods. She scooped up a handful of leaves from the ground and tossed them over her head, giggling as they rained down on her. Vivi reached for more leaves.

    “Can I play?” asked a girl who’d been watching from a bench.​

    Vivi nodded, and the girl flung a fistful of leaves above them.​ They twirled and jumped to catch the falling colors, landing together in a howling heap. The stress of the day fluttered away with each burst of autumnal joy.

    Like

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  34. Autumn’s Confetti
    Chelsey Bahe
    Image 14

    Her dark curls bounced as she ran to me, but they were the only part of her that seemed to be having any fun. I didn’t even have to ask to know that she’d struggled during the school day. Sitting still and being quiet was not something her always-on-the-go body and mile-a-minute brain excelled at.

    She took my hand, and we began the journey home. The sidewalk was littered with autumn’s confetti. Fiery red maples mixed with the amber ash leaves crunching beneath our feet. Vivi dropped my hand and slipped her backpack off.

    “Hold this?” she asked.

    I took the bag and she started running for the clearing between the playground and a patch of woods. She scooped up a handful of leaves from the ground and tossed them over her head, giggling as they rained down on her. Vivi reached for more leaves.

    “Can I play?” asked a girl who’d been watching from a bench.​

    Vivi nodded, and the girl flung a fistful of leaves above them.​ They twirled and jumped to catch the falling colors, landing together in a howling heap. The stress of the day fluttered away with each burst of autumnal joy.

    Like

    Reply

  35. OL’ GNARLEEN
    By Linda Staszak
    167 words

    Once upon a Halloween
    There lived a goblin named Gnarleen.
    Boy, oh boy, she sure was mean—
    She snarled at butterflies.

    Smashing pumpkins was her thing.
    Smooth and plain or carved with bling—
    She picked them up and with a fling
    They SPLAT against a wall.

    But one day when she grabbed a squash,
    The pumpkin squeaked out, “Oh my gosh!”
    Gnarleen—it’s you! You have panache!
    But veggies are beneath you.”

    Gnarleen was shocked, appalled, intrigued.
    “The throwing’s tough—I am fatigued.”
    The pumpkin smirked, a touch of greed.
    Her plan was working fine.

    She led Gnarleen to trick-or-treaters.
    “Goblins should scare candy eaters.
    They’ll drop their bags—it’s so much neater.”
    (“And that is good for me!”)

    Gnarleen began her scare crusade.
    It worked—the children were afraid.
    The ‘pumpkin’ shed her masquerade
    And grabbed the candy and ran.

    And that is why, on Halloween,
    If you should run into Gnarleen,
    Don’t say a word, don’t make a scene,
    Just let her smash her pumpkins.

    Like

    Reply

  36. Less Traveled By
    By Julie Brydon
    (Photo #2)

    I never pick up hitchhikers, but I was so lost.
    Unfamiliar road. Thick fog clouding the darkness. No GPS.
    Besides, I could take this wisp of a girl in a fight. Probably.
    But I couldn’t take driving alone endlessly.
    It’d already been one hell of a night. The flash of fur. Screeching brakes. The near miss.
    Hands still shaking, I needed a distraction.
    Maybe this stranded soul would know the way.
    “Thanks for the lift.” She’d a haunted look to her eyes, like she’d seen things.
    “Where you going?”
    “Home. You?”
    I shifted into drive. “Anywhere but here.”
    She chuckled. “Turn left at the fork.”
    At least someone knew where we were heading.
    After countless twists and turns, we reached our destination—a yew tree, the mist behind it luminous. No house in sight. Strange.
    “You coming, Cecelia?”
    “What?” How’d she know my name?
    “Denial is understandable, but you can’t stall forever.” She extended her hand. “Follow me. Or stay, becoming a shadow of yourself.”
    It all rushed back. Crunching metal. Hooves shattering glass. Oh, God! “I didn’t survive, did I?”
    She shook her head.
    So I met her gaze and chose.

    Liked by 8 people

    Reply

  37. I chose picture #14 of the two girls playing in the leaves. That to me is the whole reason for the season! Please enjoy my entry:
    Title: BE-LEAF DAY
    Author: Susan Burdorf
    Word Count: 184 words
    Picture #14

    Betty didn’t like Fall.
    She liked Spring, because the flowers she and grandma planted would peep out of the earth with the promise of sweet smelling blossoms and slender stalks of green.
    She liked Summer, because she collected seashells with mommy at the beach.
    She liked Winter, because she’d build a snowman family with daddy. Afterward they’d drink hot cocoa with small white marshmallows.
    But she had no one to spend Fall with.
    “Hello, I’m Alice. I just moved in next door. Don’t you love Fall?”
    Betty frowned.
    “I’m Betty. What’s so great about Fall?” Betty said kicking the leaves.
    “What’s so great about Fall?” Alice said in disbelief. She pulled Betty to her front yard. “This is what’s so great about Fall!” Alice ran as fast as she could. “HIYA!” she shouted as she leaped into a pile of leaves her dad had just raked. “Come on! Try it.”
    Betty smiled as she ran into the pile. She jumped up and threw leaves into the air and at her new friend.
    Betty LOVED Fall.

    Liked by 9 people

    Reply

  38. Fall Frenzy
    Photo #7
    197 W/C
    Susan Carroll

    Nature’s Symphony

    As the autumn sun beams down on Julian’s face, he lifts the headphones from his ears to hear the beauty around him. Leaves shuffle with each step. Acorns bounce to the ground. Birds chatter as they migrate south for the winter, as water flows ferociously in the river below.

    Julian comes upon a pile of leaves, bending down to pick one up. He feels the tips of the leaf counting 5 points, tracing the shape of a star. He runs his fingers up and down, back, and forth on the stem determining it is long and slender. The leaf is wet from the rain that fell the night before and has a waxy feeling to it. Julian realizes the leaf he holds in his hand is a maple leaf.

    He is reminded of the nature walks he took with his grandfather under canopies of maple trees dressed in tin buckets, that collected sticky, sweet sap. Memories of the taste and smell of maple syrup covering stacks of pancakes he and his grandfather made, came flooding back to him.
    When Julian opens his eyes, the images of autumn are blurry, but nature’s symphony rings loudly in his ears.

    Liked by 5 people

    Reply

    2. Your brilliant juxtaposition of strong actions (“leaves shuffle,” “acorns bounce,” “birds chatter,” and “water flows ferociously”) with quiet study and delicious memories creates wonderful tension with gorgeous emotional notes.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

    7. You did a great job engaging the senses, Susan. So often, a certain smell or sound evokes a memory of someone or someplace special in our lives. Julian’s grandfather played this important role. Nature’s Symphony is truly beautiful when we take to the time to stop and notice. Thanks for having Julian give us this beautiful reminder.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  39. Image #2
    Word Count: 195

    Tamarind Dreams

    – Nandhini Parthib

    An oppressive, bright sun was beating down. The engine hissed as the bus slowed to a stop. People bustled around the station packed with travelers, vendors, and the occasional stray dog.
    I can vividly recall the smells and sounds of that journey, that would take me from my small village in South India to the bustling city.
    I had never been out of my little hometown. My house, with its thatched red-shingle roof, had a backyard with a mango tree that bore the sweetest fruit every summer, two tall coconut trees, and a shed for the cows. Around us everywhere, were rice fields, as far as the eye could see. Every day from every part of the village I could see never-ending rice fields, dotted here and there with enormous banyan trees that my friends and I would sit under sucking on juicy tamarind pods. I don’t see those rice fields anymore. That bus journey was my last glimpse.
    Now, I see a lonely winding road, gray, moody. Sometimes I can still hear the hiss of an old, overloaded bus, and I run to see the rice fields. But the only thing visible are memories.

    Liked by 1 person

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  40. Forest Fright
    by Bri Lawyer

    I stood planted to the ground, unable to run. My limbs trembled as footsteps echoed in the distance. They were coming for me.

    The crescendo of crunching leaves told me I had only seconds before I would be found.

    Then I saw them. Two figures, almost concealed by the fog. I prayed they would walk past, leaving me unnoticed.

    But they didn’t. They stopped in front of me, looking me up and down.

    Frozen in terror, I realized what they were about to do.

    They lunged, climbing on me and pulling my limbs. Then… a gruesome pluck! Then another!

    They tore off pieces of me, eating the flesh and leaving the core. I was mutilated… EATEN!

    Their hands filled with red while relishing in their feast.

    Sappy tears flowed when they started speaking to each other in a language I didn’t understand. If only I could make out what they were saying…

    “Get those apples on the top branch.”
    “Get them yourself!”
    “You know I can’t climb that high.”
    “We have enough. Plus it’s getting dark. Let’s head home.”

    Finally the torture stopped. I stood quaking, watching the two shadows creep off, dragging buckets of my parts away with them.

    Liked by 7 people

    Reply

  41. Alone – by Suzy Steele

    Wind whispers sweet nothings through the cracks in the stone. I hum as I brush the dust off of my best china. My dress flutters at my feet, warning mice and spiders of my approach. I set my favorite record onto the gramophone as sweet music dances through the air like fireflies in the night sky. Moonlight shines through the window, coloring the worn floor in cool tones of lavender.
    I change into my party dress. Silk the color of a mountain sunset swallows me in luscious folds. I slip my favorite bracelet onto my wrist. Tiny diamonds and sapphires twinkle like stars in the soft candlelight.
    A bell rings faintly in the distance, like an old forgotten friend coming to say hello.
    My guest is here.
    I rush downstairs, sweeping the stairs with my dress in my hurry. I fling open the heavy oak door, who screams in protest.
    My eyes fill with tears as I take in the sight before me. My hands slow crumple my perfectly pressed silk dress as a single tear carves a lonely path down my face.
    Empty.
    I knew no one could love a ghost.

    Liked by 4 people

    Reply

  43. My apologies for my entry form posting twice. I was having technical difficulties. The internet isn’t great out here in the boonies.

    My entry is on my blog but I thought I’d share here as well.

    MY TWO DADS- by Darcie Naslund

    I have two dads.

    One is tall,

    with dark hair,

    and honey-brown eyes.

    The other

    is the same person—

    two dads in one.

    And yet,

    they are

    so

    very

    different.

    Old Dad was kind, helpful and brave.

    He went off to war to save the world.

    If anyone could do it, he could.

    But my world—

    was shattered.

    Luckily, Dad came home safe.

    Safe but broken.

    He isn’t the dad I remember.

    I call him New Dad.

    New Dad’s eyes don’t sparkle like Old Dad’s did.

    They look lost.

    His smile is, too.

    I miss Old Dad’s hugs.

    He could squeeze away my troubles

    and melt away my pain.

    New Dad doesn’t hug,

    Sometimes, I wonder if he notices me at all.

    Until he does.

    CRASH!

    I spill my water.

    New Dad YELLS.

    It scares me.

    I clean up silently,

    pretending I’m invisible.

    Like when I watch New Dad.

    He doesn’t notice.

    I do it because every once in a while

    I see glimpses of Old Dad—

    kind and helpful.

    I wonder if he’s still brave.

    Maybe Old Dad— my dad

    can fight his way back to me.

    I hope so.

    But for now,

    I need to be brave, too.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    1. This was very moving and truthful for so many of us who know what it’s like in some way to have an Old Parent and a New Parent.

      Like

      Reply

  45. Autumn’s Confetti
    Chelsey Bahe
    Image 14

    Her dark curls bounced as she ran to me, but they were the only part of her that seemed to be having any fun. I didn’t even have to ask to know that she’d struggled during the school day. Sitting still and being quiet was not something her always-on-the-go body and mile-a-minute brain excelled at.

    She took my hand, and we began the journey home. The sidewalk was littered with autumn’s confetti. Fiery red maples mixed with the amber ash leaves crunching beneath our feet. Vivi dropped my hand and slipped her backpack off.

    “Hold this?” she asked.

    I took the bag and she started running for the clearing between the playground and a patch of woods. She scooped up a handful of leaves from the ground and tossed them over her head, giggling as they rained down on her. Vivi reached for more leaves.

    “Can I play?” asked a girl who’d been watching from a bench.​

    Vivi nodded, and the girl flung a fistful of leaves above them.​ They twirled and jumped to catch the falling colors, landing together in a howling heap. The stress of the day fluttered away with each burst of autumnal joy.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  46. inspired by picture #14

    JOY
    Haiku
    By Lyn Jekowsky

    Joyful frolicking,
    Toothy smiles, uplifted arms.
    Autumn leaves whirling.

    Childhood ecstasy
    Crosses every boundary
    Where children are free.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  47. Alone in the Woods (196 words, image 7)
    By: Ashley Lepre

    Alone in the woods, I’m a little bit scared.
    There’s plenty of trail, I’d have happily shared.
    Behind: lonely footprints. Ahead: empty road.
    But it’s better than walking alone with a toad.

    Alone with a toad, this is certainly worse.
    Though, he may be a prince who is stuck in a curse,
    I don’t plan on finding out anytime soon.
    But it’s better than walking alone with the moon.

    Alone with the moon and the shadows it makes
    are talons, and spiders and venomous snakes.
    They live in the darkness and hide in the light.
    But it’s better than walking alone with a knight.

    Alone with a knight, and he’s ready to brawl.
    He’s overprotective, and noisy, and tall.
    He readies his sword at the drop of a twig.
    But its better than walking alone with a Pig.

    Alone with a pig and he’s more scared than I.
    A rustle of wind makes him startle and cry,
    “Wolf! It’s a Wolf!” at the top of his voice,
    and truthfully, if there is no better choice,

    than the toad, or the moon, or the pig or the knight,
    then, alone in the woods? I suppose that’s alright.

    Liked by 4 people

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  48. Sound and Color
    by S. Lee (photo #7, 103 words)

    When my headphones are off
    the trees are a blur
    my insides are muddy
    my shirt is too tight on my neck;
    my own soundtrack’s my focus
    who, what, where, when, why
    cascading like autumn
    leaves piling up I can’t help it
    I keep jumping in.

    When my headphones are on, the world turns ON.
    An explosion of sound and color!
    Crimson, apricot, cherry red—
    I scan each leaf till I find
    a five-pointed star
    still tinged with September,
    honeyed like melody dancing on keys.
    It’s a little uneven, and it’s got a few spots
    but it’s perfect to me, all the same.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  49. Tamarind Dreams
    by Nandhini Parthib

    Image #2
    Word Count: 195

    An oppressive, bright sun was beating down. The engine hissed as the bus slowed to a stop. People bustled around the station packed with travelers, vendors, and the occasional stray dog.
    I can vividly recall the smells and sounds of that journey, that would take me from my small village in South India to the bustling city.
    I had never been out of my little hometown. My house, with its thatched red-shingle roof, had a backyard with a mango tree that bore the sweetest fruit every summer, two tall coconut trees, and a shed for the cows. Around us everywhere, were rice fields, as far as the eye could see. Every day from every part of the village I could see never-ending rice fields, dotted here and there with enormous banyan trees that my friends and I would sit under sucking on juicy tamarind pods. I don’t see those rice fields anymore. That bus journey was my last glimpse.
    Now, I see a lonely winding road, gray, moody. Sometimes I can still hear the hiss of an old, overloaded bus, and I run to see the rice fields. But the only thing visible are memories.

    Like

    Reply

  50. Thank you for the Fall Writing Frenzy! What a great way to start the fall season!

    Thank You, Mama
    (Photo 9 by Saliha Sevim on Pexels.com)

    By Tracy Uhlman

    Thank you, Mama, for walking in the woods with me.
    You teach me any walk can be an adventure.

    Thank you, trees, for stretching your branches over the trail.
    Your colorful leaves create a crunchy path for me to explore.

    Thank you, wildlife, for filling the forest with your families.
    You each add life, sound, and color to the world in your own ways.

    Thank you, stump, for being a cozy den.
    You show me that home can be wherever the heart is.

    Thank you, breeze, for blowing by.
    You carry the crisp smells of fall and encourage me to breathe deeply.

    Thank you, puddle, for washing my boots.
    Your collected pools reflect a new way to see.

    Thank you, pup, for your steady friendship.
    You remind me to be a trustworthy friend to others.

    Thank you, nature, for showing me how things can work together.
    Your lessons will always be with me.

    Thank you, hilltop, for the beautiful view.
    You provide me with a place to be still and thoughtful.

    Thank you, Mama, for sharing this world with me.
    You help me see good and beauty wherever we go.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    4. A beautiful description of how we can engage all the senses to appreciate nature (and the loved ones who share it with us), Tracy!

      Like

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  51. Inspired by #3 Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

    A Flicker of Hope (WC: 105)
    Suhasini Gupta (@thesusankam)

    And there we were again,
    ready to celebrate
    the festival of lights
    spreading joy,
    happiness,
    and prosperity.

    The aroma of delicious sweets made our mouths water.
    The smiles brighter than the lights,
    and laughter louder than the fireworks
    filled the quiet house.
    Shimmery clothes,
    glittery jewels,
    and colorful Rangoli dazzled proudly.

    Suddenly, everything went dark!
    Pitch dark…
    spreading the creepiest darkness – that could make one blind
    and scream. HELP!
    No dazzles,
    no glitters,
    no shimmers worked.

    Finally, a flicker of hope –
    a humble diya (lamp) lit up.
    Spreading the warmth of joy,
    the glow of happiness,
    and the sparkle of prosperity.
    Flick- Flick! Happy Diwali!

    Liked by 3 people

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    1. I loved “laughter louder than the fireworks”. Thank you for sharing this lovely piece of writing, Suhasini!

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  52. Love this contest! Thank you, Kaitlyn, Ameerah, and Ebony for all the work you do to make this possible!

    READY FOR PUMPKINS

    By Laurie Murphy

    (image #1, 194 words)

    Mia coasted down the hill, past the cow field, and bumpity bumped onto her grandparents’

    gravel driveway. The faded maroon mums bounced in her bicycle basket. It was the day Mia was

    dreading. She almost turned around, but she heard Grampie’s voice, “It’s okay, Mia. You and

    Granny can do this together.” But Mia wasn’t so sure.

    “Meeoow!” screeched Muffin, skittering behind the pumpkins.

    Mia clambered off her bike and hurried to scoop up the cat.

    “You’re here just in time,” Granny called from the porch. “Ready to harvest?”

    Mia smiled but her heart was frowning. “I don’t know.”

    “Let’s try,” said Granny, her eyes shiny with sad.

    Mia snuggled Muffin tight and nodded.

    Mia and Granny wandered through the pumpkin patch, the vines winding like ribbons.

    “Here’s one!” called Mia.

    “Is it ready?” asked Granny.

    Mia stooped and tapped the pumpkin. It sounded hollow. She pushed her fingernail into the

    pumpkin. It was hard. The vines were brown and dry. “It’s ready.”

    Granny placed her hand over Mia’s as they cut the stem. Mia held up the bright orange

    pumpkin. “We did it,” said Granny.

    “Together,” said Mia. She glanced up and grinned.

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  53. GIVE A CHEER!
    Marty Bellis
    [ inspired by picture #14: Charles Parker on pexels.com ]

    Give a cheer ‘cause autumn’s here.
    She’s been gone since way last year.
    At last she’s back. Hip hip hooray
    So much to do. Come on, let’s play.
    Gather leaves of red and gold;
    As many as our arms can hold.
    Pile them high, then jump right in.
    Add some more and jump again!
    Resting in our leafy bed,
    we watch as geese honk overhead.
    Wispy clouds in bluebird skies
    make us wish we, too, could fly.
    Mama’s raking and Papa’s baking.
    Mmm . . . I smell what Papa’s making.
    Cider donuts! What a treat.
    Are they ready? Yay! Let’s eat.
    Save two for Mama, working hard.
    Cleaning up the whole back yard.
    Wow! Just look at what she’s done.
    Our leaf pile’s now a giant one.
    When we jump, we sink waaay down.
    It’s the best leaf pile in town!
    Flying would be fun, it’s true.
    But geese can’t do what we can do –
    like jump and giggle, swish and sway.
    We’re glad we’re us. Hip hip hooray!
    Thank you, autumn, for this day!

    Liked by 2 people

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  56. Little Zombie’s First Fall

    By Clay Hadden

    Little Zombie had just risen when he noticed the weather had changed.

    “Whaaaaaaaaaaat?” he moaned to Mommy, pointing outside.

    “Faaaaaall,” Mommy growled.

    “Faaaaaall?” he wondered.

    “Coooooooome,” Mommy wailed, taking Little Zombie by the hand.

    Outside, Little Zombie shivered.

    “Coooooold,” he said.

    “Can get waaaaaarm. This heeeeelp,” she growled back, helping him into a cozy sweater.

    “Waaaaaarm,” Little Zombie grumbled, hugging himself.

    Little Zombie heard an unfamiliar chitter and saw the flash of brown fur scurry beside him. Startled, he hid behind Mommy.

    “Oooookaaaaaay,” Mommy reassured, “Juuuussst a squirrel. Getting foooood.”

    “Squirrel cuuuuuute,” Little Zombie murmured, bending to see his new friend.

    Something fell near his head. Little Zombie looked up at the tumbling colors.

    “Leaves faaaaall from treeeeeees. Then grooooooow baaaaaaack,” Mommy grumbled.

    Mommy pushed the leaves into a pile. Little Zombie watched with wonder.

    “Juuuump iiiin,” she said, crashing into the pile.

    The leaves rustled and crunched as they shuffled through them.

    “Cruuuuuunch,” Mommy muttered, imitating the fallen leaves.

    “Cruuuuuunch,” Little Zombie growled back.

    As they played, Little Zombie delighted in the crispness of fall. The cool air, the scurrying animals, the falling leaves.

    “Faaaaaall is goooooood,” he groaned.

    “Yeeeeeeees,” Mommy said, “Faaaaaall means change. Change is goooood.”

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  57. The Forest Fortune Tellers
    By Claudine Pullenn
    WC: 200
    Image #7

    Ouma and I would venture into the forest.
    “Close your eyes. Take off your headphones. Listen!
    The woodland is wise.
    All seeing, all hearing!” she would say.

    But now, my Ouma is gone.
    I stand alone.

    The trees whisper.
    Growing louder and louder…

    “The forest feels your energy. You miss your Ouma.”
    “How did you know?”
    “We’re the forest fortune tellers. All seeing, all hearing!”
    “Oh! My Ouma used to say that!”
    “Follow the leaves, they will lead you where you want to go.”

    Suddenly, a kaleidoscope of leaves swirled, like golden dandelions frolicking in mischief inviting me to dance.
    Ouma felt near.
    I smelt her rose scent.
    She held my hand as we pranced in delight.
    Then the wind howled wildly.
    “Follow me down your path.”

    It whirled and whizzed around me.
    Softly kissing my face, “I bring greetings from lost loved ones!”
    Then I heard the most wonderful sound…
    “Hello, my sweet child. Do not fear, I’ll always be here!”
    Warm tears trickle down my cheeks.

    So next time you venture into the forest, listen!
    For the forest fortune tellers, see all and hear all.
    And maybe magic is waiting for you, just like it was for me.

    Liked by 1 person

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  58. Such a sweet story Marty! I felt like I was right there, jumping in leaves and smelling those delicious donuts!

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  59. Thank you so much for this delightful contest, Kaitlyn, Ebony, Ameerah, and all the wonderful prize donors!

    THE WALK HOME
    By Stacey Ramirez
    200 words, Photo #7

    Benny bounced along the path, yellow leaves crunching under his feet. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of crisp air. “My favorite time of year!” he thought gleefully. “Just a few more hours and…costumes, carving pumpkins, candy extravaganza!”

    Halfway home, the air turned bitter. Something cold brushed his neck. He shivered.

    What was that? A whisper he couldn’t quite hear. He took off his earphones and looked over his shoulder.

    “Hello?” he called.

    Nothing—just trees and a darkening sky.

    A few more steps…there it was again.

    “Whhhhhoooooooooo…”

    His hair whipped around him.

    “Wh-wh-who’s there?” he stammered.

    Branches rustled and shook.

    “I know someone’s there…This isn’t funny…”

    He looked up into bony tree limbs, searching for any sign of life, finding none.

    Now his steps quickened, his heart drummed…just keep walking, almost home…

    Around the bend, he stopped cold.

    Whoosh…THUMP! Whoosh…THUMP!

    The tree swing was moving—by itself!

    “WHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!”

    The whisper became a yell. The swing twisted and wrenched.

    GHOST!!!

    Benny RAN.

    *************

    Wind and Owl screeched with laughter.

    “That’s number five, Owl—how many will we trick tonight?”

    “Many more, Wind,” Owl replied. “Tricking is such a TREAT!”

    “My favorite time of year,” Wind howled.

    “Who-WHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO! Mine too!” Owl hooted.

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  60. Thank you so much for this delightful contest, Kaitlyn, Ebony, Ameerah, and all the wonderful prize donors!

    THE WALK HOME
    By Stacey Ramirez
    200 words, Photo #7

    Benny bounced along the path, yellow leaves crunching under his feet. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of crisp air. “My favorite time of year!” he thought gleefully. “Just a few more hours and…costumes, carving pumpkins, candy extravaganza!”

    Halfway home, the air turned bitter. Something cold brushed his neck. He shivered.

    What was that? A whisper he couldn’t quite hear. He took off his earphones and looked over his shoulder.

    “Hello?” he called.

    Nothing—just trees and a darkening sky.

    A few more steps…there it was again.

    “Whhhhhoooooooooo…”

    His hair whipped around him.

    “Wh-wh-who’s there?” he stammered.

    Branches rustled and shook.

    “I know someone’s there…This isn’t funny…”

    He looked up into bony tree limbs, searching for any sign of life, finding none.

    Now his steps quickened, his heart drummed…just keep walking, almost home…

    Around the bend, he stopped cold.

    Whoosh…THUMP! Whoosh…THUMP!

    The tree swing was moving—by itself!

    “WHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!”

    The whisper became a yell. The swing twisted and wrenched.

    GHOST!!!

    Benny RAN.

    *************

    Wind and Owl screeched with laughter.

    “That’s number five, Owl—how many will we trick tonight?”

    “Many more, Wind,” Owl replied. “Tricking is such a TREAT!”

    “My favorite time of year,” Wind howled.

    “Who-WHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO! Mine too!” Owl hooted.

    Liked by 2 people

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    2. Awesome voice and turns of phrase. I love “the air turned bitter” and “bony tree limbs.” Wonderful “double”-twist ending, too!

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      1. Thank you so much, Katherine! I wanted to give the younger ones a little bit of creepy but with an exit ramp of some comic relief at the end! 🙂

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  61. Runaway at the Acorn Inn
    By Amy Flynn

    When the wind whistled, leaving chilly kisses on noses, Chester welcomed winter guests to The Acorn Inn.

    Groundhogs in the Root Rooms.
    Bears, hedgehogs, and mice within Trunk Tower Caves and Crevices.
    Birds resting on the Brief Break Branches.

    Once everyone tucked in for the season, Chester cozied himself with a mug of hot cocoa –
    Knock, knock.

    Chester opened the door to a, “Little Human?”
    My first human guest!

    Chester showed Little Human to a room, then returned to his almost-hot cocoa when he heard –

    “AHHHH!!! Mice!”

    “That’s just the Gnaw family. They’re guests.”

    Chester resettled Little Human, returned to his not-quite-hot cocoa when he heard–

    “Mr. Chester? I’m hungry.”

    Sigh, Chester sighed.

    Three nut butter and berry sandwiches later, Chester returned to his cold cocoa when he heard–

    Whhhaaaaaa. SOB SOB SOB.
    “What’s wrong Little Human?”

    “I miss Mama.”
    “Time to head home?” Chester asked, full of hope.

    “But she said it was bedtime, and I’m not ready for bedtime, and that’s not fair. WHHHHAAAA.”

    “But Little Human, The Acorn Inn is a hibernation hotel. It’s ALWAYS bedtime.”

    GASP!

    Little Human scurried back into the forest as fast as he could.

    While Chester returned to reheat his hot cocoa.

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  62. THE FINAL FLIGHT
    by Renée Neubauer
    Image #8, 199 words

    The plane touches down
    We race through baggage claim
    Nothing to claim, nothing to declare
    Stepping outside, I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding
    The autumn air soothes my tight lungs, reminding me I’m alive
    We scan for the car, cursing the driver for being late
    My brother pulls out his ringing phone
    And I hear my dad’s voice on the other end
    My brother says nothing, just listens
    His poker face remains unreadable
    Until his eyes glaze over and he loses his grip on his phone
    I speak to him
    But he stares at the falling leaves, unhearing
    I scream at him
    Jolting him back to me.

    I look out at nothing, at everything
    My mind blank
    My insides a white canvas
    Devoid of color, of feeling
    Except for an ache, an unyielding ache
    My breath catches in my chest, suffocating me
    An unearthly sound escapes my lips
    And I reach out for something, anything
    To break my fall
    There is no present, no future
    Only the past
    Tears stream down my cheeks, unending
    Unspoken words choke me like a vise
    As my brother’s words play on repeat in my ears
    “She’s gone…She’s gone…”

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  63. Inspired by Photo #8

    Through the Veil
    By Patchree Jones

    The line is thin,
    Threadbare between you and me.
    Invisible to the naked eye,
    But thicker than our worlds can imagine.

    #

    Excitement shivers along my spine as his voice lingers in my mind.

    Feel the breeze, don’t fight it. Your body knows what to do, Saengfaa.

    I stand on the precipice, preparing for my first flight. Feathery appendages weigh heavy on my back. A chilling spark shoots through the unseen Veil beneath my bare feet. Its icy energy fuses with mine and I call upon my palang to melt the barrier beneath me.

    This is it.

    I focus on the thinning atmosphere, willing her to listen and shelter me from the fall. Her comforting warmth signals an understanding and the energy blossoms around me. The pressure compresses, funneling faster and faster for the force burning inside me.

    One step, the glass cracks.
    Two steps, my shoulders tighten.
    Three steps, my arms raise.

    I leap, trusting my ability to open the invisible gates below.

    A thunderous rumble fills the sky as the Veil is lifted. I emerge from my perch on the clouds. Falling forward, glorious saffron-colored wings spread behind me, and I’m smiling at my success.

    Finally, I feel whole.

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  64. FARM MARKET SHAPES
    by Deena Viviani
    43 words ~ Image #1 ~ Board Book

    At the farm market, I pick red circles – ripe apples!
    I choose an orange oval – a shiny pumpkin!
    I climb yellow squares – prickly hay bales!
    I ride in a green rectangle – a squeaky wagon!
    I sit under a blue trapezoid – a giant tent!
    I eat a purple diamond – a tasty tart!
    I pet brown triangles – soft pony ears! And I get a kiss back, too.

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    1. This is a sweet story, Deena, introducing colors, shapes, and imagery. I love the pony’s kiss! Those velvet muzzles get me every time.

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  65. It’s a joy to read everyone’s submissions! Here’s mine!

    Roland Rolled
    by Jess Burbank
    (inspired by image #1 and a little of #8) 200 words)

    Roland gazed past the field’s old oak tree, past the purpling clouds. Awake long before the other still, solemn pumpkins attached to his vine, Roland watched the brilliant sun sink behind the tree’s craggy branches. As the sky darkened, the other pumpkins started to stir.

    They wibble-wobbled and blinked open their angled eyes and greeted each other with a “Good evening! How did you sleep?”

    Then, they started their raucous nightly festivities, rattling their seeds and singing their spooky songs long into the otherwise quiet night.

    Ooo-waa-ooo shooka-shooka, ooo-waaaa-ooooo shooka-shake.

    They didn’t wonder what was beyond the old oak tree. They didn’t yearn for new sights or sounds. They were content with each other’s company and their nightly merriment and music-making.

    Not Roland. No, tonight was the night he would finally see what was past the field, in the direction the old oak tree’s biggest branch pointed.

    With the others distracted—ooo-weee-ooo rattle-rattle, ooo-weeee-ooooo rattle-shake—Roland rolled.

    Then…

    Twist!

    Yank!

    SNAP!

    The singing stopped.

    All the pumpkins stared, surprised, as Roland rolled across the open field, past the sturdy, steadfast oak tree’s trunk, and into the dark, vast, unknown beyond.

    The old oak tree pointed, then waved a wistful goodbye.

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      1. Thank you!! Me, too! I’ve gotta keep writing and find out what Roland gets up to! ❤ Thanks for reading.

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    2. I love this! I can totally picture all of those pumpkins and your language is simply beautiful! I especially love the, “Ooo-waa-ooo shooka-shooka…” I’ve never heard anything quite like it (or so pumpkin-y) before.

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      1. Those pumpkins are secretive with their singing, so it makes sense you’ve never heard anything like it. 😉 Thanks so much for reading and commenting! ❤

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  66. Perfect way to start October

    THE MESSENGER TREE
    By Jane Baskwill

    The old maple stood taller than I remembered when I visited her last. A few days of frost signalled to the leaves it was time. The golden light of the maple’s foliage seemed to envelop us. Nadia had grumbled all the way, as usual. Nature wasn’t her thing, but she went along with me – most of the time.
    “Hurry, Nadia,” I pleaded. “Hold out your hands, like this.”
    “Why are you in such a hurry, Reggie? It’s just an old tree shedding its leaves. Maybe now we won’t have to come back here again.”
    “I told you last time, she’s anything but ordinary. She’s a messenger tree,” I whispered.
    “Never heard of it.” Nadia snorted, shoving her hands in her pockets.
    In order for the magic to work, it needed two. Nadia usually went along with me no matter how wild my ideas sounded. But today, when I needed her most, she wasn’t buying it.
    I breathed deeply and let it all spill out. “My Grandpa says messenger trees hide in plain sight and are from a time of ancient magic. But if you find one, you will receive an important message only you can read.”

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. Trees ARE magic. This little story gives the reader just enough to believe and to wonder what the message was, and what his or her own might be.

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  67. Countdown to Crunch
    By Katie Lee Reinert

    Nell loved fall. The colors, the smell, the cool crisp air, and especially the leaves!

    The crinkle as she stomped them was music to her ears. The thrill of catching them made her heart soar (her record was 8). But most of all, Nell loved jumping into a huge, crunchy pile of them. She couldn’t wait to feel the colorful cushion all around her!

    The work went quickly as Nell anticipated that first glorious leap. When she’d gathered the last leaf, she paused to savor the moment.

    With one last look at her mountainous pile, she lunged forward. WHOOSH! A gust of wind blew past, scattering the pile.

    But Nell was determined. She scraped and scrunched and soon enough, the pile was ready again. Nell smiled to herself. The wait only made her want it more.

    With a hop, she took off for the pile…so did her dog, Max.

    “Max, no!” Nell cried, but she was too late. Her lovely leaf mountain was now a leaf ravine. With a sigh, Nell pushed the leaves together again.

    This was it. No more delays. Nell could practically feel the leaves already around her as she counted down.

    3…2…1…CRUNCH!

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  68. GHOST TOWN
    By Lindsay Moretti

    Don’t give up!” said Tommy breathlessly. “Almost there.”

    My brother and I have been lost in the woods for days. I was still a few yards below him when he reached the top of the hill.

    “What do you see?” I asked hopefully. “Please say a restaurant.”

    “A village! It looks small, but I bet they can help.” Tommy smiled when I finally reached him. Catching my breath, I took in the view. Snowy mountains pierced the delicate fog that blanketed the forest, the setting sun casting an orange glow on the rugged peaks. Golden tamaracks bordered a beautiful green valley filled with moody light. Nestled in the middle of it all was a quaint village.

    “What are we standing here for?” I asked. “Race you!”

    As I started down the hill, Tommy grabbed my arm and shrieked, “Winnie, wait!”. Then whispered, “You’re on.” and took off ahead of me. I could swear he was laughing.

    The sign read Sanderson Valley, population 325. Cars parked in neat angles along the street. The open sign to the drug store blinked and buzzed.

    It was a charming village, but I grew unsettled. It was eerily calm.

    “Winnie … where are all the people?”

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  69. AUTUMN ANTICS
    by Rhonda T. Spear

    (Inspired by Photo #10 by Josh Hild on Pexels.com)

    Crunch, crunch. The autumn air was filled with the sound of leaves crackling. They rustled as if something moved among them searching for a mysterious object.

    Suddenly, a predator emerged, bounding toward a bird!

    Repeatedly, the cat sprang, pounced, and leapt in an attempt to capture his prey.

    He grew bored when the bird thwarted him. Then he saw a fuzzy squirrel gathering acorns.

    Minx crouched down, waiting for the squirrel to approach. His bright green eyes followed the squirrel’s path. Minx silently stalked his prey.

    The squirrel was startled! It darted toward the closest tree. Minx was fast in pursuit.

    The squirrel clambered up out of Minx’s reach.

    Something odd hanging between the two trees caught Minx’s attention. The squirrel forgotten, Minx investigated this new interest.

    He jumped up, landing in the middle of this strange thing. It began to swing and sway. Back and forth it went. Minx dug his claws in, holding on for dear life!

    He rolled onto his back. The gentle rocking motion made Minx sleepy. I think I’ll have a nap, he thought as he drifted to sleep.

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  70. Inspired by photo #2
    Word Count: 199

    Night Driving
    By Lynn Greenway

    “Bella got out again”

    The moon hangs in my rearview mirror
    And fog swirls around my windows.
    I usually love night driving but
    Tonight it just takes too long.
    My phone sits in the cupholder
    So I can see the texts coming in.

    “She’s not in the usual places”

    I flick my brights off,
    Then on, then off again.
    Blasted fog.
    There’s a flash of light out front,
    A bonfire perhaps?
    I ignore it, eyes bouncing
    Between road and phone.

    “…found her in the street.”

    I squint, trying to make out
    The curve of the road
    Through the choking fog.
    No matter how hard I push,
    The car won’t go any faster.
    Nearby my phone glows blue and
    yellow light beckons ahead.

    “…hurt… pls hurry.”

    The fog envelops my car
    Seeping in through the vents
    Stealing my oxygen
    Outside the moon gasps for air
    And I can’t breathe

    “I’m sorry sweetie, Bella’s gone.”

    The car rolls to a stop.
    I leave my phone behind and
    Stumble toward the golden glow.
    It flares up without heat
    Blazing brighter and brighter,
    Burning away the fog.
    I inhale the clean night air.
    Deep inside the light,
    A golden tail thumps the road.

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  71. Unhearing
    by David Deen
    inspired by photo 7 by jonas mohamadi on Pexels.com

    Caleb grabs the phoneheads from the bin. Phoneheads, because they’re like headphones but backwards. They don’t help him hear videos or music. They help him unhear the world.

    They aren’t perfect. He can still hear the other kids yelling and shouting and singing and marching and tap-tap-tapping and kicking the chairs and they seem to think it’s fun and funny but it isn’t, it isn’t, and the one thing he hates the most about school is the other kids being loud even when he asks them again and again to stop, please STOP!

    He grabs at his hair in frustration, yanking, yanking, without even realizing it. He asked Mom to cut his hair off so he can’t grab it, but she won’t, and then she looks at the balding spot and sighs. He doesn’t mean to, but the other kids are so loud and they never—

    Riiiiiiiiiing.

    Caleb drops the phoneheads in the bin and bolts out the door, away, across the field to his favorite tree, where he’s alone. He closes his eyes.

    And listens.

    To the silence.

    And the sun.

    And the wind.

    “Ready to go, bud?” It’s Uncle. Uncle doesn’t yell.

    Caleb takes his hand and smiles.

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  72. I Am a Walker by Debbie J. Arnn

    I am a walker.

    …dressed, breakfast…
    …brushed my teeth…
    …lunch, backpack…

    8 o’clock—out the door
    Fall reminds me to zip up my jacket.
    I am a walker.
    I take myself to school.

    The Stewart’s hammock hangs quiet near the big tree.
    Swinging will have to wait because…
    I am a walker.
    I can’t be late for school.

    Doors slam, and busy cars pull out of driveways.
    Trash trucks groan and hiss, grabbing garbage at every house.

    Step-step, step-step—
    Two steps in every square.

    I am a walker.
    I walk on the sidewalk to school.

    The morning air chills my cheeks.
    A deep breath rewards me with a yummy smell—

    Roasting peanuts from the nearby factory.
    Mr. Peanut must be a fun place to work…

    Look left…look right…carefully cross…
    I am a walker.
    I’m very close to school.

    Birds welcome me to the shortcut around the back.
    Stepping through the trees, the playground looks magical.

    The morning sun’s light catches the frosty ground.
    Trees and ground sparkle like diamonds.
    It’s never looked like THIS before!

    It catches my breath.
    I have no words—
    Just so glad that …

    I am a walker.

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  73. MY BACK-TO-SCHOOL BEAT
    By A.D. Kemp
    Inspired by image 7

    The brisk morning breeze
    hums an autumn song.
    An octave below,
    thick fog floats along.

    I’m finding my back-to-school beat.

    New first-day outfit
    Orchestrates my style.
    Hair sitting just right,
    I can’t help but smile.

    I’m finding my back-to-school beat.

    Ring-a-ling, beep, ring
    Hitting snooze no more
    Finding the rhythm
    Of dancing out the door.

    I’m finding my back-to-school beat.

    Pens, pencils, paper,
    Binders, blue and black.
    Medley of school tools
    Strapped onto my back.

    I’m finding my back-to-school beat.

    Fire golden trees
    Symphony of hues
    Harmony of leaves
    Underneath my shoes.

    I’m finding my back-to-school beat.

    Friendly smiles, fears fade.
    Lockers stuffed with coats.
    High-fives with my friends
    Hit all the right notes.

    I found my back-to-school beat.

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  74. Inspired by photo 1
    Word Count 167

    Picture Perfect
    By Sharon McCarthy

    Mom loved taking pictures of her children at every outing.

    The fall sun gave the finest shots.

    Pumpkins called her near.

    “Come! Pose here! Stack ‘em high. Stack ‘em low. Stack ‘em round your babies so.”

    The perfect pumpkin picture never failed. Mom was always proud of what she saw.

    The crisp air triggered school, holiday, and family conversations.

    Mom captured countless pictures through the seasons.

    The flashes locked the passing years.

    Yet the pumpkin picture was always the finest of the crop.

    Now that I have children, the pumpkins call me near.

    “Come! Pose here! Stack ‘em high. Stack ‘em’ low. Stack ‘em’ round your babies so.”

    Mom is a grandmother now. She does not mention new beginnings. She only wants a picture of her growing family. I call her to the pumpkins.

    “Come! Pose here!” I stack ‘em’ high. I stack ‘em’ low. I stack ‘em’ round mom and our babies so.

    The sun’s fall shine didn’t fail. We are proud of what we see.

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  75. Gran’s House
    It was the first of October and all Jane wanted was to play the new game she had bought with her allowance. Instead, her mom insisted she spend the day with her Gran. As much as Jane loved her Gran, spending the entire day with no wifi and no air conditioning was less than ideal. They arrived at Gran’s house to find her raking leaves. “Great, a full day of working,” Jane thought. As they arrived Gran gave Jane a big hug and an even bigger rake. She told her to work from the outside and they would meet in the middle to create a pile. Jane worked hard but huffed and grumbled the whole time. “Grandmothers don’t know how to have fun,” she said under her breath. Just as soon as she had finished speaking, Gran was flying in the air towards the leaf pile. “Last one in, is a rotten pumpkin!” Gran shouted! Jane let go of her rake and the frown on her face and ran toward the pile laughing. The two swam in the enormous pile happily. Gran looked to Jane and said, “I’ve been waiting to do that with you all year!”

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  76. Pingback: Fall Writing Frenzy 2023: “Leaf Dance” – Sea Dreams and Time Machines

  77. The Tenth Pumpkin
    By Tiffany Hanson
    138 Words

    Nine pumpkins sat on the ground.
    Festive and quiet, orange and round.
    But the tenth pumpkin couldn’t be found.

    The tenth pumpkin, didn’t want to be a pumpkin.
    He thought that the gourd life wasn’t for him.

    He simply couldn’t stay.
    So he simply rolled away.

    He thought about being a basketball,
    But he was squishy and squashy and much too small.

    He tried to be a traffic cone,
    But all the noise made him groan.

    Then he thought he’d be a beachball.
    But even with the sun and the sand he still missed Fall.

    The tenth pumpkin missed his kin.
    Maybe the gourd life was for him.

    He no longer wanted to roam.
    So he rolled his way home.

    Ten pumpkins sat on the ground.
    Festive and quiet, orange and round.
    Ready for Autumn, safe and sound.

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    2. Oh this is very funny and kid relatable. Loved the idea of the pumpkin don’t want to be a pumpkin. Good one, Tiffany! 😀

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  78. Rip Van Winkle
    By Katherine Rea

    You’re tired. Oh, so tired. You’d give anything for a little rest – to be undisturbed by the chaos of your life.

    That’s when you see, beyond the mist: a hammock. You lie down; your limbs relax. You feel a light breeze, the sun on your skin. Watch the leaves fall, one by one, as your eyelids close.

    Let the hours ooze by.

    Nothing will disturb you.

    Until you wake, shivering. It’s dark, without even starlight twinkling above. And you hear the crunching of footsteps on frozen leaves.

    “Hello,” says a voice in the night.

    Your clothes are damp with sweat. You peer into the darkness, but can’t see anyone. The stranger takes your hand, and their touch is warm. A relief.

    “How long have I slept?” you ask.

    “Too long,” the voice answers.

    You reach up to feel your face, but your hands hesitate, resist. Your knuckles are knobby; your skin is loose and wrinkled.

    “Where did the time go?” you gasp. “My job, my friends…my children?”

    An unseen cheek touches yours, and the stranger whispers in your ear.

    “You wanted to rest. You said you’d give anything. And now you have.”

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  79. THE PERFECT GIFT
    by Stephanie K Mena

    “Catch her. She’s riding on the highest leaf!” Laura shouted.
    “Don’t let her get away!” Linda giggled.

    “Owe! my ankle.”
    “If I stop to help, she’ll get away.”
    “But I need you,” Linda cried.

    The highest leaf twisted around and silently floated downward.

    “Our wagon’s close by. Wait here,” Laura said.

    The warm sun, cool leaves and sleep soothed Linda’s sore ankle.

    A little sprite dashed and darted all around leaving a trail of sparkles.

    AHHHH COOO!

    “Sorry to wake you. Why were you chasing me?”

    “We need a gift,” Linda explained.

    “For yourselves?” Aine asked.

    “We have nothing to give our mom,” Linda sighed.

    “Being a fairy for over 100 years, I’ve learned people have more than they realize. Instead of wishing for stuff, look at all you have: each other, caring and love.”

    Laura helped Linda into the wagon and headed home, “Where did this seedling come from?”

    “We didn’t need to chase Aine. She came to us She said the best gift is each other, caring and love. She left this behind.” Linda explained.

    “Happy Birthday, Mom.”

    “What a perfect gift! We’ll plant it together and watch it grow every year.

    The girls laughed, “Aine was right!”

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  80. Legend of the Dusk-Berries
    by Kendra Bell
    (200 words)

    I don’t know why The Cough didn’t catch me. My stallion-fast brothers wheeze in bed beside mama, who weakly squeezes my hand. My throat tightens. No medicine’s helping.
    Ruff! Our sheep-dog Ruthie whines at the snowy mountains above our ill village. The legend crosses my mind — 
    Where sunlight kisses mountaintops, dusk-berries grow luck. 
    If I picked the berries after sunset, maybe… I glance at my family, then frown at my crooked foot.
    Ruthie brings my walking stick.
    I laugh, rub her ears. She knows I’d do anything to help.

    Up the valley, through the crimson forest, my foot’s on fire. Ruthie nudges me whenever I stop. We drink from rivers. Tip-toe by fresh bear tracks.
    Ruthie cough coughs coughs.
    “Don’t you dare!” I urge her on.
    We limp through snow as sunlight glistens tree tops. Ruthie falls. I pull her up. “Come, girl.”
    Cough cough!

    When I heave Ruthie over the rocky ridge, she lays still. 
    “Please! Wake up!” 
    Sunlight fades below us, and scarlet berries brighten like star-drops. 
    I shove them up Ruthie’s sloppy tongue. “Wake up!”
    She licks her chomps. Jumps and slobbers me.
    I laugh, filling my pockets with berries. “These’ll save our whole village!”
    Ruthie grins.

    https://www.kendrabellauthor.com/book-burrow/legend-dusk-berries

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    1. How sweet and beautifully written! Loved the MC’s determination of travelling all the way up the mountains and fetching berries for her family despite her crooked legs.

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  81. Thanks to Michele Meleen for telling me about this, and to Kaitlyn, the Prize Donors and the judges for creating and assisting with this contest! When I saw picture #14, I started to write a story about the loss of a loved one (a friend who moved away based on the picture), and then that turned to a more ambiguous loss, which then turned into the loss of a pet. We recently made the difficult decision to schedule our beloved 16 y/o (our FURst baby) dog’s euthanasia and I have been grappling with how to tell the kids. Different POVs (and some tears) led me to this:

    Dear Kiddo
    By Betsy Lehan

    Dear Kiddo,

    I’m going to have to go soon,
    I’ve loved to watch you grow-
    at first I was so jealous,
    but now I love you so.

    When you were just a baby,
    you smelled so fresh and new!
    Except when… well, you didn’t,
    but I still loved that too.

    And then you started walking,
    although you were so small!
    I’d always be your cushion,
    when you would start to fall.

    You learned to pet me gently,
    and slip me bits of food.
    You’d even play some fetch,
    if I was in the mood.

    But now I’m feeling tired,
    and fetching seems so hard.
    I just watch out the window,
    as you play in the yard

    You might have seen I’m wobbly.
    I can’t hear what you say.
    My food just isn’t tasty.
    I’m hurting every day.

    So I’m going to have to go soon.
    There’s a place, I know it’s true,
    Where other pups will greet me,
    And I’ll feel good as new.

    My life has been so happy,
    and although I’ll miss you so,
    my rainbow bridge is calling,
    and soon I’ll have to go.

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  82. Thank you Michele Meleen for making me aware of this contest, and to Kaitlyn, the Prize Donors and the judges for creating and assisting with it! When I saw picture #14 I was inspired to write a story about the loss of a friend, but ultimately wrote from the heart about a subject that is near and dear as of late:

    Dear Kiddo
    By Betsy Lehan

    Dear Kiddo,

    I’m going to have to go soon,
    I’ve loved to watch you grow-
    at first I was so jealous,
    but now I love you so.

    When you were just a baby,
    you smelled so fresh and new!
    Except when… well, you didn’t,
    but I still loved that too.

    And then you started walking,
    although you were so small!
    I’d always be your cushion,
    when you would start to fall.

    You learned to pet me gently,
    and slip me bits of food.
    You’d even play some fetch,
    if I was in the mood.

    But now I’m feeling tired,
    and fetching seems so hard.
    I just watch out the window,
    as you play in the yard

    You might have seen I’m wobbly.
    I can’t hear what you say.
    My food just isn’t tasty.
    I’m hurting every day.

    So I’m going to have to go soon.
    There’s a place, I know it’s true,
    Where other pups will greet me,
    And I’ll feel good as new.

    My life has been so happy,
    and although I’ll miss you so,
    my rainbow bridge is calling,
    and soon I’ll have to go.

    Liked by 2 people

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      1. It is! We have the date booked for the end of the month and I have struggled very hard with how to tell the littles. Hence this idea.

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  83. Pingback: Fall Writing Frenzy 2023: Alone | Schreibenfreude

  84. The Fog
    By Russell Wolff
    (Inspired by photo #2 by Eric Hammet, 200 words)

    On a dark fall day, a thick fog approached the woods.

    The trees saw it and shivered off their leaves,

    the road swerved,

    a passing car skidded,

    the rain held back,

    and the wind blew hard, acting brave.

    The fog wondered what was wrong.

    On a dark fall day, the fog drew closer.

    The trees trembled at what the fog might hold,

    the road faded,

    the car slowed to a crawl,

    the rain hurried into puddles,

    and the wind blew even harder.

    The fog started to sweat, fearing what it might be hiding.

    On a dark fall day,

    as the woods panicked

    and the fog fretted,

    the clouds parted.

    Out poured the sun.

    On a bright fall day,

    the fog melted away.

    “Goodbye,” it wanted to say.

    But not a wisp remained.

    The trees withered,

    the road broke up,

    the car stopped short,

    the rain blubbered,

    and the wind gasped, blaming itself.

    The woods echoed with emptiness.

    On a bright fall day, the clouds returned.

    So did the fog.

    The trees reached out,

    the road relaxed,

    the car hugged the road,

    the rain splashed,

    the wind sighed,

    and the fog nuzzled into the woods’ nooks,

    on a dark fall day.

    *******

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  85. Clementine (a Halloween tale inspired by “Madeline”)
    By Alison Marcotte

    In an old patch in Morton
    that was covered in vines
    lived twelve little gourds in two straight lines.

    They welcomed guests at half past nine—
    the smallest one was Clementine.

    She was not afraid of mites.
    She loved autumn leaves and frights.
    To the bunny in her view,
    Clementine just said, “Pooh-pooh.”

    In the middle of one night
    Farmer Nell turned on her light
    and said, “Something is not right!”

    Little Clementine shooed the bun,
    “I’m not food!” But it was done.

    Clementine was in Nell’s arm
    in a blanket safe and warm.
    In a truck with a bright light
    they drove out into the night.

    One nice morning Farmer Nell said,
    “Isn’t this a fine day to visit Clementine?”

    In gourds rolled and then said, “Ooh!”
    when they saw the lights and candy
    and the haunted ghosts who flew.

    But the biggest surprise by far—
    Clementine glowed like a star!

    In the middle of one night
    Farmer Nell turned on the light
    and said, “Something is not right!”

    So Clem said, “Please pumpkins do—
    tell me what is troubling you?”

    And all the little gourds cried, “Boohoo!
    Can we please be jack-o’-lanterns like you?”

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  87. Music for Two

    The rules were clear: only approved classical music for Nico. No songs with words, singing, or even chanting allowed. Alone. He feels so alone. So, he sneaks away, every week, to his beautiful secret music spot, slips on his headphones, and lets the music wash over him.

    It was always the best moment in the world!

    Nico spies his dad walking briskly up the hill toward him. His stomach sinks, his heart starts pounding fast and hard, and he bites his lip. Please don’t take away my music, he begs in his head.

    His dad reaches the top of the hill and silently calls him over. His dad puts his hand out for the headphones, and Nico slowly gives them to him.

    ” Dad, please…” Nico starts to plead. His dad waves him away, with a that’s enough gesture.
    His dad slips on the headphones. No reaction. Then his dad starts to smile…and then begins to hum! Nico stares at his dad.

    Nico’s dad reaches out to Nico, draws him close, and lifts one earpiece so they both can listen. They stay that way for the whole song.

    Maybe he wasn’t so alone after all.

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  88. Not Yet by Ann Littler.

    The girl lazes in her hammock in the dappled autumn sunlight, a mess of golden curls and muddied knees. Her dress is ruined, ripped by branches that clung too tightly as she climbed higher and higher until I held my breath, willing her to return to the safety of the ground.

    She escapes the folds of the fabric, all of a sudden bored of the stillness. Mischievous laughter reveals initials carved deep into one of the thick trunks. Smiling, she holds a rusty nail in her right hand. I resist the urge to chastise her, to tell her to drop it before she hurts herself, and watch as she dances off into the tall grass. Wild. Happy. 

    I wander over to the old apple tree and trace my fingers over the letters she left years ago. Youth’s innocent crime, but the faded scars remain.

    Sparrows fly fast above us, rushing to roost before the sun bleeds into the clouds. It’s time to go, the soft rustle of the leaves whisper. The girl falls in time with me, her footsteps becoming ever softer, until only mine remain. 

    I feel Winter in the shadows ahead, biding her time. 

    Not yet. Not yet. 

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  89. Not Yet.

    The girl lazes in her hammock in the dappled autumn sunlight, a mess of golden curls and muddied knees. Her dress is ruined, ripped by branches that clung too tightly as she climbed higher and higher until I held my breath, willing her to return to the safety of the ground.

    She escapes the folds of the fabric, all of a sudden bored of the stillness. Mischievous laughter reveals initials carved deep into one of the thick trunks. Smiling, she holds a rusty nail in her right hand. I resist the urge to chastise her, to tell her to drop it before she hurts herself, and watch as she dances off into the tall grass. Wild. Happy. 

    I wander over to the old apple tree and trace my fingers over the letters she left years ago. Youth’s innocent crime, but the faded scars remain.

    Sparrows fly fast above us, rushing to roost before the sun bleeds into the clouds. It’s time to go, the soft rustle of the leaves whisper. The girl falls in time with me, her footsteps becoming ever softer, until only mine remain. 

    I feel Winter in the shadows ahead, biding her time. 

    Not yet. Not yet. 

    Liked by 1 person

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        1. A chilling ending! “Just as the fingertips of night clawed the sky purple” is lush description, adding to the atmosphere

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  90. Pingback: Bears in the Woods #FallWritingFrenzy | Norah Colvin

  92. Learn from the Critters
    By Michelle Steinberg, M.Ed.
    199 words, inspired by photo #9

    Nana says, “winter’s going to be hard this year.”

    “Fall’s barely started,” I say.

    Nana says, “learn from the critters. Squirrel a’nesting high in the trees? We’re in for

    a heap-a snow. Same with the wooly-bears. A thick, orange stripe means a hard winter.”
    [Art note: caterpillar]
    “But how do they know, Nana?”

    “Child, they just do.”

    Nana says, “listen for the birds. When the goldfinch stops singing and the mourning

    doves fly low in flocks, they’re moving on. You see the V in the sky now? Canada geese are

    migrating for the winter. And watch for woodpeckers sharing a tree.”

    Again, I ask, “how do they know?”

    Nana says, “they’re born knowing Deer’s sporting a coat of gray? Fatter badgers and

    rabbits now mean long, cold months ahead. Thick-tailed raccoon, the snowy owl coming early?

    Mice and crickets inside? They know.”

    “But, Nana, HOW do they know?”

    Nana says, “the trees know, too. ‘If the leaves fall late, severe winter is the fate.’ ”

    The trees rustle as if to show they agree.

    “BUT HOW?”

    Nana says, “Child, I don’t know, but I’m glad they do. Or else we’d be unprepared.

    Thanks to these messengers, we’ll be ready.”

    # # #

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  93. No Frenzies Left After the Fall, 95 words

    By Lorraine McCown (@McClowny, @mcclowny.bsky.social)

    Based on photograph 12. mother & daughter’s gaze, by: A. Piacquadio

    I’d been visiting her as often as I could for a while. After a recent fall, her windows of lucidity had grown smaller and less frequent. In fleeting moments of recognition, a frenzy of questions pressed forcefully just behind the dam. I asked none of them. While I desperately wanted the remnants of her wisdom to crash and churn over me until I could fully absorb her essence, she was already gifting me with what she knew I needed. The love behind her smiling eyes would sustain my future without her. She was, indeed, wise.

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  94. DEATH WAS BUT A CHILD
    By Kathleen Jacobs
    #6

    Death had no mother.
    Nor father.

    She was but an orphan, who danced on cobblestone.

    A boy took her to the zoo.
    But when he let the beasties loose…

    Death got…
    The fright of her life!

    Death had no mother.
    Nor father.

    She was but an orphan who danced.

    A boy took her up in a hot-air balloon.
    But when he tore the canvas…

    Death got…
    The fright of her life!

    Death had no mother.
    Nor father.

    She was but an orphan.

    A boy took her for a wild ride.
    But when he sped across the tracks…

    CRASH!

    Life left Death.

    Death saw a boney woman.
    Death saw a boney man.

    And though they shared a solitary soul,
    They somehow seemed alone.

    “Death! Death!”
    Those grim reapers cried.

    “Life took you from us. But at last, …
    Our darling death daughter has arrived.”

    Death had a mother.
    Death had a father.

    Family now complete.
    Hand in hand,

    They danced on city streets.

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    1. I love the boney man and woman sharing a solitary soul and the image of death and her grim reaper parents dancing on city streets- creepy!

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  95. Outside (picture 7)
    By Jenna Renqvist

    I’m just a child in a big, big world,
    most things are out of my control.

    But there are a few things that I know,
    help me cope when feelings swirl.

    When I don’t know what to do,
    or I’m feeling mad or blue,
    I take a step outside.

    When I can’t get things right,
    When I feel shaky inside,
    I take a step outside.

    When others scream or yell,
    And my feelings swell,
    I take a step outside.

    When someone’s unkind,
    When things are scary in my mind,
    I take a step outside.

    When no one’s there to hold my hand,
    When no one seems to understand,
    I take a step outside.

    Whether I’m feeling sad, scared, or mad,
    Outside is where I’ll be.

    In that space, I can finally breathe,
    With my songs, I feel free.

    With music in my ears and the wind on my face,
    Things start to quiet down.

    Then I tuck the song inside my heart
    Gaining comfort from the sound.

    I carry the music deep inside,
    Where nothing else can reach,

    With music inside and the sun on my face
    I find my inner peace.

    Liked by 2 people

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    1. Lovely Jenna, so true! Music and Nature can heal anything and everything. They are truely the best medicine for the heart, mind and soul. Good luck. 😀

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  96. Not just a leaf (WC: 122)

    A little leaf
    waits on a branch
    waits to fall and be free
    to not be just
    a little leaf.

    Here comes the wind, “Little Leaf, be free!”
    Whoosh!
    Little Leaf is a paper plane aloft on a brisk breeze,
    swooping and spiralling down…down…down…
    Sploosh!
    Little Leaf is a brave boat afloat in the wild waves,
    zigzagging smartly to safe shores…zig…zag…
    Hmmm!
    Little Leaf is a comfy blanket, smooth and silky,
    to lie on top of…or under.
    Crunch!
    Little Leaf is a party noisemaker in a rowdy band
    that sizzles, crackles and pops!
    Wham!
    Little Leaf is a moving mountain that rises again…and again…and again please!
    Aaaah!
    Little Leaf is free
    to not be just
    a little leaf. (Little leaf blows off the leaf pile mountain to begin a new journey cycle.)

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    1. Hello Jen, loved the little Leaf’s free journey of being aeroplane to boat, comfy blanket to party popper and finally being in a mountain of leaves. Lovely lyricism and Onomatopoeias! Good luck.

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  97. How I was Born… in a Nutshell
    By: Patricia Salik

    Spunky, quirky, flighty, squirrely. That was my mom, before she had me. She said, when I found out you were on the way, I changed. For the first time, she was prepared. She gathered everything she would need. Food, bedding, stuff. You know, “necessities.” She said, I’ll figure out the rest. But something got in her way.
    When she got home after work, she found the front door boarded shut with everything still inside. All that “stuff” – she never saw it again. No explanation. She had everything and then nothing.
    Sure, she could protest, advocate, call around for help. But it would be too late and I wasn’t going to wait. So, she cried. There were others in the same situation and not enough to go around. Unhoused, they called her. What would they call me?
    She dried her eyes and went to work. Built a new home, one with a view. She gathered more nuts and leaves for a nest. That’s how she met my stepdad. He lived in the hollow next door. She said he kept asking to help. Romantic right? He still calls her Squirrely, but it’s a pet name now.

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  98. I love seeing everyone’s awesome entries!

    YOU ARE NOT ALONE
    By Cindy Greene
    Word count: 135
    Inspired by photo #8 (but you’ll see I took things in a different direction : )

    High in the vast sky,
    solo, a gull flies.
    He calls out, looking for friends.
    “VROOM!” a plane roars,
    “Yippee!” his heart soars.
    The gull is not alone.

    Deep in the forest,
    a crickety chorus
    surprises a girl on a walk.
    Ants are working
    birds begin chirping.
    The girl is not alone.

    Watching the school yard,
    recess can feel hard.
    I grimace as others play tag.
    A boy is reading,
    another is weeding.
    We are not alone.

    Sometimes it feels at the end of the day,
    that no one could possibly feel the same way.
    Maybe you’re wanting to run away, hide,
    bury your feelings and keep them inside.

    But when you are furious,
    sad, confused, curious,
    know others can feel as you do.
    Sharing, showing,
    keeps us all growing.
    You are not alone.

    Liked by 1 person

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  99. Laura, this is such a lovely piece about a leaf, that is destined to fly! I loved the end… I flutter, I float, I fly! ❣️👏👏🍁🍂

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  100. Pingback: September/October News & Fall Frenzy! – Sarah Meade, Writer for Children

  101. Does it Make a Sound? 
    By Lara Hearn
    Inspired by Picture 2
    WC: 197

    The biggest problem
    with being the type of person
    that wears headphones
    24/7
    to actively cancel
    the too-loud noise of life
    is you 
      don’t 
       always
                   hear
    what follows you in the dark. 

    These woods
    are what we in Silverlake call
    lightly haunted.
    Meaning,
    we don’t know for sure
    of any tragedies 
    that occurred under their black boughs
    but it’s still 
    Appalachia. 

    I’m not scared of the woods. 
    I walk this road every day. 

    Usually,
    I take off my headphones
    enjoy the noises 
    Let my hands flap 
                                   to the rustle of trees 
    dance to the song 
                                   the forest sings. 
    It’s comforting. 

    But not today. 
    Every few seconds 
    a rustbucket
    roars past me
    making me cringe
                                   flinch
                        zap.

    So, the headphones stay on. 

    It’s closer to seven now
    (Band ran late).
    I walk deeper into the trees.
    I don’t want to be the girl
    that died getting hit by a Corolla
    because she was walking on the shoulder. 

    This is how it gets me. 
    I don’t hear the rustling
    don’t hear it whine my name from above
    don’t hear the snap of dry twigs behind me

    This forest
    was 
    lightly haunted. 
    I guess now I’m here
    It’s just 
     haunted. 

    Liked by 1 person

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    2. WOW!!!! Horrifying and beautiful! You had me on the edge of my seat (and not just because my son can totally relate to this character and I worry for his safety all the time.) Woof!

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  102. inspired by image 10 https://www.pexels.com/photo/hammock-hanging-on-the-trees-14557815

    THE FOUR BEARS AND THE JUST-NOT-RIGHT BED

    By Joy Dickinson

    Warm weather was slipping away. 

    It was time to put summer things in storage.

    But I dropped off everyone’s mind. 

    Except for the four bears, who had never seen such a thing.

    Pappa Bear said, “That bed looks just right for a nap.” 

    Bed? 

    He plunged on but was spilling off my edges. 

    “This ridiculous bed is just not right for me,” he said. 

    Ridiculous?! 

    Then Mamma Bear said, “It looks just right for a place to fall asleep.” She tumbled on. But she was too big, too.

    I (accidentally) somersaulted and dropped her on the leaves. 

    “This bizarre bed is just not right for me,” she said.   

    Bizarre? And what’s with everyone thinking I’m a bed?

    Then the bear cubs scurried up the tree, hung on to the tight rope, and dived on. But they ended up piled on top of each other. 

    “This silly bed is just not right for us,” they agreed.

    Silly? Two bear cubs are calling ME silly??!! 

    Then along came a girl and her golden retriever puppy. 

    She picked him up, and they fell gently on. 

    They snuggled and dropped off to sleep.

    And … 
    it was just right.

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    1. I LOVE that this is from the POV of the hammock! So clever! Great callback to Goldilocks and the Three Bears, too. Good luck with your entry!

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  103. (Inspired by Image 14):https://kaitlynleannsanchez.com/fall-writing-frenzy-2023/

    “Autumn (like Fall)”
    by Maria Johnson

    new place
    slow start
    sudden startle
    hopeful heart

    questions asked
    in a curious way:
    Be my friend?
    Can we play?

    shy nuzzle
    quiet wiggle
    brand new game
    nod and giggle

    pull me up
    so I can soar
    reach back for you
    closer than before

    give love
    seek space
    care and effort
    focused face

    crashing down
    with a careless wave
    precious artwork
    too late to save

    I’m still learning
    just how to be
    a kind friend
    like you to me

    please forgive
    don’t forget
    new to friendship
    don’t know yet…

    what this world has
    in store for me
    whom I’ll meet
    or who I’ll be

    every moment
    from now ‘til then
    writes my story.
    Begin again.

    Can I bring you along with me?

    golden pumpkins
    falling leaves
    wishing flowers
    warm long sleeves

    an afternoon I
    didn’t want to end.
    Remember always
    my new friend,

    Autumn (like Fall)

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  104. Poor Eliza
    By Allison Fleischman

    Eliza hadn’t intended to die just then.

    Heck, her beans were still simmerin’ in the pot. She was about to start that long book she’d been meanin’ to read. And she’d have time now. The carrots and potatoes had been dug and the apples had already been picked. They were all stored away carefully in the cellar. She was ready for some well-earned rest, just not the eternal kind.

    No, Eliza hadn’t intended to die just then.

    Really, it was a ridiculous thing.

    Doc always told her that her ticker was strong and that she had wallopin’ good fortune to be so spry at ninety-eight. Yep, her ticker had been thumpity-thumpin’ just fine. That wasn’t her problem.
    It was her teeth. Well, she didn’t have any left. She’d been gummin’ away on some right tough old jerky and got so tired of the process, she just up and swallowed it. That is, she attempted to swallow it, but it didn’t go down, just stuck.

    And now, here she was, in this coach crowded with poor souls rattlin’ down the foggy road towards who-knew-what eternity.

    “Tarnation,” she thought. “I shoulda brushed my pearly whites like Ma told me to.”

    Inspired by Picture 2, 198 Words

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    5. This made me laugh out loud! I love the voice you created for Eliza. Such a fun character and story. This is my kind of spooky story. Great work!

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    6. Allison this story made me smile, picturing this as a picture for kiddos. Similar to “There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed Fly (Jerky) 🙂 Love it!

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      1. Thank you! I am picturing some pretty funny illustrations now- old pioneer boots kicked up in the air etc. 🙂

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    7. Ha!! Love it!!! I especially liked the line, “Heck, her beans were still simmerin’ in the pot.” It’s so clever and different and created quite a character and world in so few words.

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  105. TOAD FOOD
    By Ruthie Nicklaus

    A girl with a yellow bunny hair clip sat at the desk next to mine. Her name card said, Annie. 
    My name, Ruthie, was also written on a card taped to my desk. 
    “Woof-ee?” Annie asked. 
    “Lu-see,” a boy corrected. 
    “No. RRooo-TH-eee,” I pronounced. It sounded strange.  
    “Just call her Rudy,” the teacher said. 

    In the cafeteria, I opened my lunch.
    “What is that?” Annie asked. Her sandwich was white and soft with red jelly, like all of the other kids’. 
    “It’s tofu.” I whispered. The crumbly brown bread squished slabs of jiggly tofu. Green sprouts sprung from under crusts like troll hair. It didn’t smell like jelly. It smelled like… 
    “I have never tried toad-food in my life,” Annie confided.
    I hid it back inside the bag.  

    Annie followed me home after school. “Want to play?” She asked. 
    “Ok.” I said.  
    I turned on the hose. Leaf canoes sailed down the waterfall to the neighbor’s driveway. We took off our shoes and squished mulberries between our toes. We made a mountain of mud balls. 
    Annie gave me her bunny hair clip. 

    Before she went home, my mom made us a snack… 
    “Mom! Not…” 
    “Toad-food?” Cheered Annie.

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  106. #Inspired by Prompt 2
    “The Forest of Muses”
    By: David Roberts
    The fog rolled in from the dense forest with an ethereal vibe sure to make the residents of the nearby town believe its otherworldly stories. For decades, the story had been told that for the month of October, a fog descends in the Forest of Muses and stays there until Halloween. The legend goes on that those who enter will be blessed with a gift from the Muses but in exchange, they forget their entire past.
    No one in the small town had ever ventured to try it out for themselves so there was no way to confirm or deny the story, so it remained a myth in Thalia. The town itself owed its name to one of the very Muses that supposedly called their forest home, their founder a patron of the arts himself.
    The townsfolk appreciated their small-town life and didn’t think it was worth forgetting their lives there in exchange for a gift of the arts. Well except for Calliope, who thought since her parents had named her after one of the Muses it might be worth the risk of forgetting where she is from to meet the person she was named for.

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  107. What Carolina Said (Image #2, WC: 196)
    By Jan Schwaid

    Carolina never said a word.

    She was born silently, without a scream or cry. “What a wonder!” exclaimed her parents’ friends, envious of a miracle baby who quietly took in the world while their red-cheeked children screamed. But their jealousy turned to concern when Carolina hadn’t uttered a sound by age 3. Soon the worry gave way to gawking fascination. Doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with Carolina. They threw up their hands and declared that the obstinate girl simply refused to talk.

    Although at 16, no sound had passed Carolina’s lips, her classmates couldn’t stop talking about her. They called her a freak and a weirdo and a ghoul; they didn’t bother to whisper, even though Carolina could hear perfectly well.

    But we were best friends. We didn’t have to talk; we had the language of outcasts, the nods and eye rolls that cut through the teenage cattiness hanging thick in the high school hell hallways.

    Which is why it was strange that the night she found my body by the edge of a winding road to nowhere, just as the fingertips of night clawed the sky purple, Carolina whispered, jagged but clear, “I did this.”

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  108. Through the Mist

    The pine trees blurred by Kate’s window as her Grand Cherokee sped East across I-80 in the early morning mist. She gripped the steering wheel so tight, her knuckles turned white. At the bottom of the next hill, Kate pushed the gas pedal down, forcing the old engine to rev a little harder as it climbed to the top. Kate was eager to finish the drive. Eager, but not excited. This isn’t how she pictured her life at forty-six years old. Everything Kate and her three sons owned was either wedged into the back of their SUV or packed in the attached U-haul. The rest of their belongings were a cheap sell on the neighborhood Facebook page, or donated to a local charity. A new start, she told herself. It will be a real adventure. These last few months, Kate told herself a lot of things just to make it through the day. There were some arguments about what constituted an item being labeled as “essential”. Somehow the X-box made the list. Kate told her boys that everything else could be bought when they got to their new home. It’s best to travel light, she thought over and over.

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  110. Crunch, Scrunch, Catch

    Crunch, crunch, crunch
    There’s no better sound
    Crunch, crunch, crunch
    Than leaves on the ground

    Kick, kick, kick
    Leaves fly in the air
    Stomp, stomp, stomp
    Fall fallers beware!

    Twirl, twirl, twirl
    Now whirl all about
    Swirl, swirl, swirl
    Fall magic shines out!

    Dance, dance, dance
    Red, russet and brown
    Twist, twist, twist
    Gold treasure drops down

    Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch
    Grab armfuls galore
    Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh
    Toss high up once more

    Catch, catch, catch
    Clutch leaves as they swish
    Blow, blow, blow
    And make your fall wish!

    (Inspired by image 14)

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  111. TIANA’S GOT TALENT

    by Jane Heitman Healy
    @janemhealy

    word count 200
    picture #1

    Tiana joined other fifth graders at the Announcements Board to see details about the Middle School Talent Show. Her shoulders slumped. What talent did she have? Kids around her buzzed with ideas and created groups to perform. Tiana wasn’t great at anything, and standing on stage in front of a crowd scared her.
    Walking home, Tiana saw a Halloween decoration that gave her an idea. She messaged two friends. Would they be in the show with her? Within minutes, they replied, “YES.”
    Tiana gathered costume material and music. The next day, the group practiced, ignoring the other entrants and their acts. The day before the show, they did a dress rehearsal at Tiana’s house for siblings. Tiana’s group was ready!
    Dressed in pumpkin trash bags, black leggings, and green hats, they stood backstage. Tiana’s palms sweated and her heart beat fast. “And now—The Dancing Pumpkins!” the announcer said, and the group took their places on stage. They looked at each other, nodded to cue the music, and began stepping their routine.
    It went by in a blur and before they knew it, they held the trophy for “Most Original Act” and smiled bigger than the pumpkin suits they wore.

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  112. Headphones – Lyrical, Escape Experience

    By

    Eric Herrington

    Word Count: 193, Picture: 7

    Bulky magnets thump, thump, boom.
    Noise-canceling in my room
    Circular padded, turned on
    Adjustable expandable in stereo
    My personal space impenetrable!

    Surround and envelop me
    Sonic waves, deep bass echoes in a cave
    contrast treble’s melody
    Vibrations pulsing, amplifying emotion
    Syncopated, rhythmic
    Ethereal, blocking out the exterior
    Complete the experience on the interior
    Away from it all, please a few moments,
    a few seconds away
    Jazz improvisation, blues riffs
    my soulful, meaningful
    Clues to my existence – my experience
    Invigorating sublime rhymes allow “me” time
    Proactively set out, it’s my scene, my time

    Lyrical storytellers,
    a heartfelt message,
    a co-struggler through the mud
    Feeling, emoting in the moment
    artists you’re telling my tale
    tears, healing, a mirror
    My sound bubble is all-encompassing
    a space, stop time, no glares.
    “Me time” just now time
    This is our journey, auditory companions,
    together, a new direction
    toward a more blissful worry-free experience
    tackling hardships, celebrating friendships,
    my music punctuates events
    carried away on musical conveyances
    refreshed I can face my day again.

    This is our journey,
    accompanied by auditory companions.
    regrouping during hardships,
    music punctuates celebration events
    Carry me on expressions, elevated,
    floating on lyrical energies buoyancy.

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  113. Alone at Golden Hour
    WC: 197

    Golden hour.

    The time of day when we are entombed, ever so briefly, in unfiltered radiance. It’s the time of day when even the most cynical will stop, wondering if maybe heaven isn’t so inconceivable.

    It’s the time of day when I think of her.

    We used to come here together. Penny’s Ranch.

    “She’s a lucky Penny,” my dad always joked when we turned the final corner and the beauty of this place filled the windshield. We’d press our small faces to the car windows, counting the horses that stood sentry in the fields just beyond.

    Alice and I spent our time riding and running, sometimes in pursuit of the barn cat who never let anyone near her. When a happy exhaustion settled in our bones, we headed for the hammock, flopping our weary bodies in. We stared up at the branches while the sun winked down at us. Sometimes we’d sway, other times Alice would bring a book and read aloud. But mostly, we were still in a way children so rarely are.

    Now Alice is always still.

    And so I alone head to the hammock as golden light fills the space between heaven and earth.

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    2. Powerful ending and opening scene, I knew exactly the picture you selected, pictured in your writing. Wonderful story of childhood memories and friendship, love the line “We were still in a way children so rarely are”

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  114. CHRYSALIS AND CRUMBS
    By Betsy McGovern
    147 words; Image 10

    It’s like a chrysalis, the hammock. The long, dangling shape of it, a little fuller in the middle. At the start of summer, I climb into its sides with a ham and cheese sandwich and some Oreos, prop a can of ginger ale in the crook of my arm.

    I imagine emerging transformed at August’s end. Someone without pimples, someone with more than one friend, someone a boy might want to kiss. My dreams flutter among the green leaves.

    When the weather cools, I turn the hammock upside down. Shake out bread and cookie crumbs. A summer’s worth of yearnings.

    The hammock sags in the thin, hazy sunshine. Brittle leaves pile beneath. The unease of another school year settles on me, as dense as the buzzing of cicadas.

    All fall and winter I will long for summer in the hammock.

    To brush crumbs from my changing body.

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    1. love your line “the unease of ….as dense as the buzzing of cicadas” I can totally hear them crescendoing and that cold feeling anticipating the new year. Wonderful depiction of Summer and childhood.

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  115. Fall Bird, Fly!    
    By: Angela Martinelli
    WC: 196, Image: 14

    We played in the leaves all afternoon. I didn’t want to leave the fun, to leave that damp, earthy smell, a little sweet and sour at the same time.  So I continued raking, piling, jumping, until…

    A shy chirp, chirp sounded from the maple above. A little bird peeked down at me with watery eyes.

    “Little bird, why are you still here? It’s fall, bird, and you must fly south for the winter. “

    He chirped again. 

    “You haven’t learned to fly? Don’t worry, I know just the thing.” I kept raking, piling until…

    I stacked a tower of leaves.

    “Fall bird, fly!” I said.

    He hesitated. Then the little bird left the nest for the first time.
     
    The air tasted exhilarating, crisp like biting into a McIntosh. He fluttered, he flapped and…

    Flop! He landed in a puff of leaves, chirping with laughter! 

    We tried again. I perched him at the edge of his nest. He fluttered, he flapped and…

    Flop! He laughed, reds and golds flying everywhere. 

    And again.

    “Fall bird, fly!” I said. He fluttered, he flapped and…

    He soared. Wind wove through his feathers. He grinned from ear to ear. 

    “Fly bird, fly!”

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  116. There once was a pumpkin, too afraid to shine. He’d hide in the patch beneath thickets and vines. Each day the children would arrive to make their selection, he slumped as he whined, “I’m far from perfection.” ‘Till one day as the kids arrived at the patch, a boy spotted the shy pumpkin and was immediately attached. He loved that his color matched the tall trees, and the wart on his skin resembled those on her knees. His shape was unique, he leaned more to one side, he dipped in the middle and was also rather wide. “This pumpkin is special from this steam to his shell! Uniquely made and perfect as far as I can tell!” The pumpkin then smiled as he made his new friend. He had new confidence and was going home with him!

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  117. Your website did not make it clear how to enter, so I am just trying to put my story here. Thanks. Newbie. Hmmm. Didn’t work. Linda Helmich

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  119. AUTUMN FLIGHT
    by Todd Beeton

    Word count: 199
    Photo prompt: #14

    That evening chill
    That late-day light,
    The time has come
    For autumn flight.

    My crinkled skin
    My golden hue,
    At last it’s time
    To fall to you.

    I twist and flit,
    I thank the breeze.
    I snap, then float,
    “Goodbye, old trees.”

    I slowly drift
    Down where you wait
    With outstretched arms
    To meet my fate.

    My friends and family
    All fell first.
    I watched them land
    And watched them burst

    With brilliant color
    As the sun
    Just bounced and beamed
    Off every one.

    I watched as children
    Leapt with joy
    With each new leaf,
    A newfound toy.

    And now you’re waiting
    There for me
    To laugh and play
    Beneath the tree.

    Who wants to live
    Stuck way up high
    And watch as life
    Just passes by?

    I’d rather join
    Your joyous fun,
    From pile to pile
    You jump and run.

    It’s true this time
    Won’t last for long
    But that just makes
    A sweeter song.

    The wind that eased me
    Gently down
    Will whisk me up
    And whip me ‘round.

    I’ll treasure all
    The time we spend
    As fall grows chill,
    And nears its end,
    .
    As skin grows dry
    And color fades,
    We’ll always have
    Our autumn days.

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    4. Thank you for taking us on an incredible journey with a heartfelt poem that so skillfully shifts moods and cleverly twists our expectations.

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    5. What a believable experience from the leaf’s point of view, Todd. And…a beautiful subtle nod to the fall of one’s life, “We’ll always have our autumn days.”

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  120. Thank you so much for this amazing opportunity!

    THE INVITATION
    By Pamela Dougherty
    Word Count 151
    Image #6

    You’re invited!
    Bring a friend!
    “Non-departed souls” attend!
    Don’t wait upon 
    the moon 
    to say it’s time! 
    At the house that’s 
    gray and bleak
    where you’ll creep 
    and crawl to peak 
    at ghoulish skeletons
    and zombies 
    dripping slime.

    Spooky mummies 
    hover near.
    Lighted pumpkins 
    smile and sneer
    at the fun 
    they’ll have 
    as soon as you arrive.
    Ghosts, witches, 
    brooms and bats, 
    empty graveyards, 
    hissing cats; 
    do you think 
    YOU 
    have what it takes 
    to survive?

    Vampires hanging 
    off the ridge.
    Marigolds along the bridge.
    Orange and yellow petals 
    calling to the dead.
    They’ve made room here 
    just for
    YOU!
    Souls returning 
    give no clue
    of what you’ll find 
    at the 
    front door 
    up ahead.

    Were wolves hunched 
    next to the door
    with fangs 
    touching 
    the black floor.
    Awakened spirits 
    have crowned 
    YOU
    the “Sugar”queen.
    Slimmy zombies all arise.
    Isn’t this a nice surprise?
    Costumed friends 
    wish you a 
    Happy Halloween!

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  121. Hi Kaitlyn,

    Thanks for inviting me to the Fall Writing Frenzy. But! I’m on overload. I received a wonderful Kirkus review on a book that I self published. But! The artwork needs to be updated. Believe it or a top publishing company will look at my book if I have a literary agent. I’m not sure if it’s okay to have an agent and self-published some of my books. Have a great time with the Fall Writing Frenzy.

    Yours in stories, Joann Frasier Dasent aka Auntie Jo Jo M.A. Oral Traditions

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  122. CINDERELLA SEEDS
    by Blythe Ashley Williams

    Word Count 197
    Photo Prompt #1

    Cinderella pumpkin seeds are rare, magical things.

    They are known for adventures and can morph into wings.

    Just a bite will turn you into a princess, a godmother, even a knight.

    But careful, there’s a catch if you eat one, yes just one, as the clock strikes midnight . . .

    out of your pocket will whiz out a horrid, one-haired wart!

    It transforms you into a beast, who incessantly snorts.

    Running away to find someone to help,

    you trip on a pixie who only eats kelp.

    She whispers the remedy to turn back to a child:

    you must find her a giddy dragon out in the wild.

    She’ll rip off your wart for her secret potion,

    don’t worry, everything now sets into motion.

    A glowing, magical garden will soon start to grow,

    And you’ll guard baby pumpkins with your prizewinning bow.

    After a bazillion weeks, those squash seeds sparkle, they smirk!

    You wish hard and pray for this meshuganah plan to work!

    You close your eyes and eat a yummy one.

    Slowly, slowly, you turn back, it is done!

    You’re now a child who will never, never again eat squash,

    only red apples from that evil, old witch McIntosh.

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  123. #10

    THE SCHOLARSHIP (YA)

    By Laura Martinez

    Sleep evaded me, despite a full day in classes, seven hours of travel, and a midnight cab ride through the city. I reached into my backpack to grab my joggers and hoodie. I needed time to think before anyone awoke.

    The fall mornings were so moist in the east. Dew sparkled on leaves and fence posts. California never seemed to be quenched like this. The subtle smell of decaying leaves and matter greeted me while I ran a well-worn path. It felt weird not dodging homeless addicts or the ducks that roamed around Echo Park Lake.

    Breathless, I rounded a flaming copse of maple trees to be assailed by the vision of Dad’s hammock. Empty. Leaves rested in the cradle it created, faded and mildewed. Time had swallowed a decade of afternoon naps under the brim of a hat and any hope of keeping this farm, and I—I hadn’t helped.

    I made the decision to follow my dream, convinced I’d finish at UCLA and be…what? A star in the next box office hit. Idiot. What a total frigging idiot. How was I going to face Dad, sick and weakened by chemo, without absolutely hating myself?
    **********

    Had a great time, again. Thanks Kaitlyn.

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  124. #2

    THE CHANGE
    By Celia Cataldo

    Through the fog and pines,
    I see the town I left behind.
    Mother Moon calls my bones to break.

    Running on fours on the forest floor,
    Coarse fur breaks through my pores.
    Glassy lake surface shows my new shape.

    Sharp claws and fangs sprout,
    old teeth and nails cast about.
    Not until sunrise will there be an escape.

    This change goes beyond the skin,
    Hunger rises deep within.
    To go back home would be a mistake.

    I catch scents in the air and earth,
    Madness for blood a monthly rebirth.
    All senses now more than awake.

    Narrowing in on the sweetest scent,
    The hunter becomes the hunted in discontent.
    Useless weapons, an easy take.

    A bitter and unsatisfying kill,
    I must hunt again for a better thrill.
    Howl and heed, twelve more hours ‘till daybreak.

    ********************************
    Thank you all and Good Luck!

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    2. A terrifying and spine-tingling treat! I love the brilliant subtlety and evocative details infusing your piece, Celia, especially the circling (like a full moon!) of “break” from the first stanza to the last.

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  125. #2

    Tylwylth Teg (Fae)
    By Estelle Middleton

    Deep in a Welsh forest, a girl ran.
    Nothing was known of her.
    Not her name, age, or bloodline.
    Despite the pointed ears and runes tattooed across her face, chest, and back.
    Or that her hoarse mutters danced between Brythonic and Cornish.
    And that she was bleeding from deep gashes in her forehead and arms that left her half-blinded.
    There was nothing for kilometres but conifer trees, grey autumn sky above, thick fog blanketing the ground.
    Silence, broken only by the shrill of birds before they wheeled into flight.
    She looked everywhere but back, at where she had fled after awakening in a place she was unfamiliar with.
    A place that screamed deep into her animal instincts to flee from, right now.
    She ran further on, paying little attention as the forest got more disturbingly quiet.
    Through an opening ahead, she saw a roadway.
    She barely stepped onto it when she let out a scream.
    Just as the lorry driver did too, slamming on his brakes.
    He leapt out, searching for the pointed-eared girl he’d have sworn he saw stepping in front of his vehicle.
    But nothing, as if she’d never been there.
    Vanished away, just like the fae.

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  126. #2

    Tylwylth Teg (Fae)
    By Estelle Middleton

    Deep in a Welsh forest, a girl ran.
    Nothing was known of her.
    Not her name, age, or bloodline.
    Despite the pointed ears and runes tattooed across her face, chest, and back.
    Or that her hoarse mutters danced between Brythonic and Cornish.
    And that she was bleeding from deep gashes in her forehead and arms that left her half-blinded.
    There was nothing for kilometres but conifer trees, grey autumn sky above, thick fog blanketing the ground.
    Silence, broken only by the shrill of birds before they wheeled into flight.
    She looked everywhere but back, at where she had fled after awakening in a place she was unfamiliar with.
    A place that screamed deep into her animal instincts to flee from, right now.
    She ran further on, paying little attention as the forest got more disturbingly quiet.
    Through an opening ahead, she saw a roadway.
    She barely stepped onto it when she let out a scream.
    Just as the lorry driver did too, slamming on his brakes.
    He leapt out, searching for the pointed-eared girl he’d have sworn he saw stepping in front of his vehicle.
    But nothing, as if she’d never been there.
    Vanished away, just like the fae.

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  127. The Gatherers
    By Rachelle Allan
    Word count: 167
    Inspiration: #1, 9, 14

    There’s magic all around us. It’s our job to gather it. We call ourselves The Gatherers and we bring the magic from your world into ours.

    The magic we collect probably doesn’t look like much to you. Our treasures may seem very ordinary. But we’ve been trained to spot magic in the most unexpected places.

    A twig.

    A dry leaf.

    A pinecone.

    A crumpled crayon portrait.

    A toilet paper roll puppet.

    An egg carton caterpillar.

    A squashed Jack-o-lantern.

    Anything that you’ve put love and creativity into brings magic to us. Remember, everything has magic inside. It just has to be reminded from time to time.

    We find that children like you are the best reminders. You are the keepers of the true magic. The ones on which our world depends. Our fairies, our gnomes, our unicorns, our dragons would be nothing without you and your magic.

    As long as there are children in the world, there will be magic. And we’ll be out there to gather it.

    Liked by 1 person

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  128. THE SPOOKIEST MUFFIN
    by Melanie Paidipalli

    Image Inspiration: 14

    Leaves crunch beneath our feet as we sprint inside, leaving behind a trail of yellow and red.
    “I’m starved.” Lara says, searching for a snack.
    “I have just the thing.” Mom says.
    Lara shields her eyes. My stomach sinks.
    “It’s a new recipe.” Mom beams.
    I try looking away, but it is too late.
    Its slimy, orange skin would frighten the bravest soul.
    Its speckled black eyes stare straight through us.
    I leap backwards.
    “Is everything ok?” Mom asks.
    A sinister smile spreads across the shiny little goblin on the plate.
    “Ahhhhhh!” Lara screams as she sprints back to the safety of the leaves.
    I turn to do the same, but then I hear it.
    “Ha ha ha!”
    This mastermind muffin has a plan.
    He is spice-y and up to no good.
    I must save everyone from this diabolical pumpkin delight!
    There is only one thing left to do.
    One way to properly remove a spooky muffin.
    The spookiest of muffins.
    I close my eyes and shove him in.
    He does not struggle, but I hear one last wicked chuckle.
    I close my mouth and back to the leaves I run.

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    1. What an imagination and so much fun. Autumn leaves and orange pumpkins certainly do inspire many edible concoctions. I selected this photo, too. It is filled with energy.

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  129. Thank You, Trees!
    Image inspiration #14

    We thank you, trees!

    You give us gifts throughout the year
    Spring to winter you make us cheer!

    Spring leaf buds peep out
    Your blooms go all out
    Magnolia
    Redbud
    Crabapple
    Lilac
    We’re happy to have your flowers back

    We thank you, trees!

    Summer days when we need shade
    You gracefully offer us your aid

    Orchards of the fruit-tree crew
    Provide us glorious things to chew
    Apple
    Cherry
    Peach
    Pear
    Plum
    Yum! Yum! We want some!

    We thank you, trees!

    In your branches critters nest
    You kindly house many a guest

    Our treehouse fort and tire swing
    Countless are the joys you bring

    We thank you, trees!

    Now the weather’s not so warm
    Green leaves get ready to transform

    Autumn brings your greatest glory
    A winding down of this year’s story

    From your branches to your crown
    You softly send your colors down
    Aspen
    Birch
    Maple
    Willow
    Leaves of red, orange, brown, yellow

    Brilliant colors fall down below
    It’s leaf confetti for us to throw
    Chestnut
    Poplar
    Oak
    Ash
    Our autumn celebration bash!

    Trees, trees, trees, you’re the best!
    You deserve your winter’s rest

    We thank you, trees!

    Liked by 2 people

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  130. Sunrise Calling
    by Heidi McFadzean

    Orville learned to swim, find food, and follow his mother just like the other goslings. But while his siblings listened attentively to Mother Goose’s tales of migration, Orville focused on the beautiful sunset.

    As they learned how to fly together, Orville’s dreams started to take shape.

    That fall, when his family took to the sky for their annual trip south, Orville turned west, away from the group.

    “Orville, you’re going the wrong way!” they honked.

    “I want to follow the sunset,” he called as he flew away.

    Back at the lake the following spring, Orville’s siblings told him about the wonderful weather and delicious food in the south. He described for them the amazing skyscapes and new friends that had sustained him through the cold, hungry months.

    At the end of another wonderful summer of being together, his siblings were excited for Orville to join their migration. As they rose up into a V formation, Orville broke away.

    “Stay with us, Orville,” his siblings called.

    Turning east, Orville replied, “I’ll go south another time. This year, the sunrise is calling me.”

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  131. Inspiration from picture number 9

    Hush
    by
    Barb Roth
    HUSH

    Hello there little one.
    Ohhh and such a beautiful tiny one.
    So precious and sweet you both are.

    Who has left you unattended hmm?
    Mama and Papa so busy.
    So many things they do.
    No time for you.

    If you come with me, we can play.
    Maybe find a treat?

    Little one, don’t interrupt.

    Let’s go.
    How about we take your sister too.

    Come, let Mama take care of what is important.

    Maybe we will see her soon, yeah?

    Maybe.

    Hush now, we must be quiet, like shadows.

    Look there-
    That path?
    That’s the one we will take.
    Quickly now, before darkness falls.

    Shush, shush, tiny one.
    No tears.
    Hush!
    We must be silent.
    Come. Quickly now.

    What’s that?
    No, no, no one is calling, ‘tis the wind wailing through the trees.

    I know you are tired.
    Only a little further.
    Stay with me.
    I have treats waiting for both of you.

    Careful!
    Take my hand.
    Stay on the trail.

    Hmmm?
    No, you can’t go back.

    What of your little sister eh?
    You would leave without her?

    Watch out!

    Shhh,

    See there? Look.
    Soon we will be where we need to be.

    This is where we are going.

    This will be home.

    Liked by 1 person

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  132. Their mellow SEASON rapidly rolls around.

    With arms stretched out,
    They warmly welcome Fall.

    Sparking their fascination, they stare at us in awe as our colors turn,
    From green to a vibrant blend of splashes—gold, crimson, honey-brown, tangerine.
    The sunrays pierce through our pores,
    And lightly strike them with energy.

    Their feet lift off the ground as they burst with vitality.
    Their laughter intensifies.
    Their palms open wide, waiting to gently clench us.
    Unknown to them, we dread this time of year.

    Our time up here is coming to an end.
    We beg in silence, to stay.
    But soon the autumn breeze blows,
    And our descend begins.
    To them, we twist and twirl.
    To them, we dangle and dance.
    But to us? We pitifully fight to stay.

    They win, we lose.
    They jolt with excitement, thinking of creative ways to use us- counting, art, patterns.
    We frown knowing what we leave behind – formerly fascinating tree canopies, become empty and bare.
    They love that the ground is now carpeted with beauty.
    They enjoy the crisp crunchy sounds as they walk.
    We dread being trampled and torn upon before we slowly disappear.
    But remain hopeful for spring when we suddenly return!

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  133. Their mellow SEASON rapidly rolls around.
    With arms stretched out,
    They warmly welcome Fall.

    Sparking their fascination, they stare at us in awe as our colors turn,
    From green to a vibrant blend of splashes—gold, crimson, honey-brown, tangerine.
    The sunrays pierce through our pores,
    And lightly strike them with energy.

    Their feet lift off the ground as they burst with vitality.
    Their laughter intensifies.
    Their palms open wide, waiting to gently clench us.
    Unknown to them, we dread this time of year.

    Our time up here is coming to an end.
    We beg in silence, to stay.
    But soon the autumn breeze blows,
    And our descend begins.
    To them, we twist and twirl.
    To them, we dangle and dance.
    But to us? We pitifully fight to stay.

    They win, we lose.
    They jolt with excitement, thinking of creative ways to use us- counting, art, patterns.
    We frown knowing what we leave behind – formerly fascinating tree canopies, become empty and bare.
    They love that the ground is now carpeted with beauty.
    They enjoy the crisp crunchy sounds as they walk.
    We dread being trampled and torn upon before we slowly disappear.
    But remain hopeful for spring when we suddenly return!

    Like

    Reply

  134. SLEEPY HOLLOW, CREEPY HOLLOW
    by Katie Schwartz
    200 words
    Inspired by photo #13

    Beneath the tow’ring mountains—
    Sleepy Hollow lay below.
    Quiet, pleasant, picturesque. . .
    many moons ago.

    Before a giant thundercloud
    Gloomy—blackish—foggy—
    blew in one night and never left.
    Poor Hollow—sad and smoggy.

    Darkness lured the creatures.
    Slimy, squirmy, creepy.
    The easy carefree Hollow
    changed—not peaceful and not sleepy!

    They couldn’t sleep with bedbugs . . .
    flying, biting gliders . . .
    scorpions or army ants . . .
    trapdoor hidey-spiders!

    And worms—the worst of all—appeared.  .  .
    zombies from the dirt.
    With saw-like jaws and teeth like claws
    One bite—yeouch—would hurt.

    Chubby, pudgy, grubby,
    Wobbling in the breeze
    Earthworms, glow-worms, whipworms, flukes,
    even in the trees!

    They overtook the village .  .  .
    zillions…give-or-take.
    The townsfolk in their houses stared . . .
    every one awake!   

    No food, no sleep, no sunshine.
    No one brave but Mandy.
    She snuck outside—got close—and sniffed.
    “Sweet, like cotton candy!”

    A plump and squishy inchworm
    With a plump and squishy head
    arose just like her hunger pangs.
    She chomped—chomp-chomp—and said,

    “Mmm-mmm . . . super juicy!
    A yummy gummy worm!”
    She slluuurrped and gulped—that was that.
    She didn’t mind the squirm.

    The townsfolk cheered and feasted.
    on worms all day and night.
    But spared the glowing glow-worms.
    They needed them for light!

    Liked by 1 person

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  135. IMAGE #14
    A WILD BACKYARD ROMP 
    By Mary Beth Rice

    An Autumn afternoon.
    Winds whistle and whoosh. 
    Butterflies flit and fly,
    hopping on the breeze, they wave goodbye.

    Leaves collect on the backyard grass
    Creamy yellows, burnt oranges and fiery reds. 
    Gifts from Oak, Catalpa and Maple.

    Backpacks drop on the mudroom floor. 
    Laptop closes behind the home-office door.
    And we gather in for the jump—at the wild backyard romp!

    Rakes trudge stubbornly across the lawn, 
    pulling crunch and color into a pile.
    And we gather in for the jump—at the wild backyard romp!

    We walk back back backwards for the count—Mother, brother and me.
    One.
    Two.
    Three!

    Ruuuuuunnnnn—a deep dive in! 
    Woot! 
    Whoop! 
    Wheeee!

    Jump in. 
    Jump around. 
    Jump under.
    Shhh.  Quiet beneath the blanket of color and crunch. Until…

    We jump out—tossing fistfuls of leaves into the air!
    Flecks of crimson glitter catch in our hair, 
    Tangle in our sweaters,
    cling to our socks.    

    Laughing and landing back on the ground.
    Lying hand in hand—we look up. 
    Golden leaves, still hugging the Cottonwood, shake in the breeze…
    Applause.

    And we gather in again for another jump—during one wild Autumn backyard romp!

    Like

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  136. His Soul is Mine
    By Amy Martinez

    Inspired by photo 11
    198 Words

    Glancing at me adoringly, we weave through campus. With his hand on my lower back, purpose and validation traverse my core. I anticipate his moves and predict his desires. I lure him in. He needs me.

    Between classes, he clings to me. Obsessively yearning for my guidance, starving for approval. I mock his reliance and withhold my affection. He mindlessly scrolls to fill the void, and when he is numb, I siphon what I need. Like a leech, I drain his life for my own.

    In the library, his glassy eyed stare fades and my gnawing emptiness returns. Before I capture his attention again, he stands to grab a snack. I understand. Emotional eating is a side effect of our relationship. I wait, my energy draining. Without his touch I am dark, shut off from the world. I need him.

    A hand wakes me but it isn’t his. It’s his ex. I can work with this. I take a selfie with her and post it. It won’t be long until he comes for me now. His facial recognition brings me to life and as he basks in the glow of my screen, I know his soul is mine.

    Liked by 2 people

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    1. Wow. You wove in the phone terms (scrolling, drained power) so masterfully. Really making me stop and think about the relationship I have with screens. Beautifully eerie. Well done. 

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      1. Thanks! My 9 year old had an assignment this week about reducing screen time. He had to research stats about adult screen time and then come up with strategies to try to reduce it. (He suggested more boardgames!)

        It was eye opening to me that over 50% of adults say they are addicted to their phones (me included).

        I am thankful for this contest. I don’t typically write eerie stories, but it was a fun opportunity for my world and my son’s world to intertwine.

        Thanks again!

        Like

        Reply

  137. Image #14
    ONE WILD BACKYARD ROMP 
    By Mary Beth Rice

    An Autumn afternoon.
    Winds whistle and whoosh. 
    Butterflies flit and fly,
    hopping on the breeze, they wave goodbye.

    Leaves collect on the backyard grass
    Creamy yellows, burnt oranges and fiery reds. 
    Gifts from Oak, Catalpa and Maple.

    Backpacks drop on the mudroom floor. 
    Laptop closes behind the home-office door.
    And we gather in for the jump—at the wild backyard romp!

    Rakes trudge stubbornly across the lawn, 
    pulling crunch and color into a pile.
    And we gather in for the jump—at the wild backyard romp!

    We walk back back backwards for the count—Mother, brother and me.
    One.
    Two.
    Three!

    Ruuuuuunnnnn—a deep dive in! 
    Woot! 
    Whoop! 
    Wheeee!

    Jump in. 
    Jump around. 
    Jump under.
    Shhh.  Quiet beneath the blanket of color and crunch. Until…

    We jump out—tossing fistfuls of leaves into the air!
    Flecks of crimson glitter catch in our hair, 
    Tangle in our sweaters,
    cling to our socks.    

    Laughing and landing back on the ground.
    Lying hand in hand—we look up. 
    Golden leaves, still hugging the Cottonwood, shake in the breeze…
    Applause.

    And we gather in again for another jump—during one wild Autumn backyard romp!

    Like

    Reply

    2. Yes, let’s all jump in…we would spend the rest of the day laughing and picking leaves out of our clothes and hair. What fun.

      Like

      Reply

      1. Thanks for reading, Deloris.  My sons always loved the first “leaf raking pile jumping” afternoon of the season! 😉 

        Like

        Reply

  138. Their mellow SEASON rapidly rolls around.
    With arms stretched out,
    They warmly welcome Fall.

    Sparking their fascination, they stare at us in awe as our colors turn,
    From green to a vibrant blend of splashes—gold, crimson, honey-brown, tangerine.
    The sunrays pierce through our pores,
    And lightly strike them with energy.

    Their feet lift off the ground as they burst with vitality.
    Their laughter intensifies.
    Their palms open wide, waiting to gently clench us.
    Unknown to them, we dread this time of year.

    Our time up here is coming to an end.
    We beg in silence, to stay.
    But soon the autumn breeze blows,
    And our descend begins.
    To them, we twist and twirl.
    To them, we dangle and dance.
    But to us? We pitifully fight to stay.

    They win, we lose.
    They jolt with excitement, thinking of creative ways to use us- counting, art, patterns.
    We frown knowing what we leave behind – formerly fascinating tree canopies, become empty and bare.
    They love that the ground is now carpeted with beauty.
    They enjoy the crisp crunchy sounds as they walk.
    We dread being trampled and torn upon before we slowly disappear.
    But remain hopeful for spring when we suddenly return!

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  139. Thank you for this creative challenge!

    A STRING OF BIRDS
    by Carol Reed-Jones

    A string of birds,
    Life on the wing,
    Flying south as autumn winds sing.
    Where will you go?
    What will you do?
    I would like to fly with you, too.

    I close my eyes,
    But still can see
    A line of birds that fly past me.

    Flying through a sunset sky,
    Fly, you shadow birds, higher than high!
    Fluffy pink clouds cushion a jet.
    Fly, you brave birds, higher yet.
    Long after your journey is through,
    I will still remember you.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    2. You have strong visual imagery in this piece. I can relate to the lines, “I close mu eyes, but still can see, a line of birds that fly past me.” It is amazing how we can hold striking images in our minds eye.

      Like

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  140. MAGIC LEAVES
    By
    Deloris Short White

    Photo 14. Word count – 95

    There’s magic in a falling leaf
    so…
    catch it – snatch it
    before
    it hits the ground

    An old folklore and old belief
    so…
    catch it – snatch it
    and
    health and wealth abound

    Dancing tricksters in the air
    so…
    catch it – snatch it
    running
    wild and free

    You zig and zag without a care
    so…
    catch it – snatch it
    laugh…
    ‘cause giggles come from glee

    Trees give us leaves and air to breathe
    so…
    catch it – snatch it
    their
    magic dwells within

    Wait patiently right underneath

    RUN!
    catch it – snatch it
    now…
    let the game begin

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

      1. Thank you, Helen. September and October are my favorite months of the year. This photo spoke to me because I still try to catch a falling leaf each fall and post it in my studio. It is rather tricky and not easy but so much fun.

        Like

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      1. Thank you Melanie. I catch my leaf each fall and post it in my studio. It is not easy as the leaves play tricks right at the final moment.

        Like

        Reply

  146. A friend just mentioned that the link for my entry didn’t show up properly! It’s in my BLOG (https://melaniekyer.com/2023/10/03/fall-writing-frenzy-2023-alone/), but I think I included the editing page link instead of the posted page for my entry. Hoping it’s still valid for the judges, but I’ll include my poem “Alone” here– it goes with photo #10, the misty hammock:

    Sometimes I want to be alone.
    I don’t want anyone to “fix it.”
    I don’t want to be told I am ok.
    I don’t want to be told to smile.
    I just want to be quiet and to think.
    To be unjustly mad and sad and tired.
    But…
    Sometimes all I want is to be found.
    I want someone to say “We have missed you.”
    I want to know my being is enough.
    I want to feel the weight of a warm hand
    Resting on my shoulder:
    Holding space for my feelings,
    When they’re too heavy for me to hold alone.
    And…
    If you see me by myself,
    It may be hard to know,
    Do I step in or do I step away?
    The line between alone and lonely can be nebulous.
    Precarious as hammocks in the fall,
    Which beckon but belie uncertainty.
    Will you be welcomed with a swaying calm,
    Or tossed into the unforgiving leaves?
    So…
    If there is no way to know: just be.
    Let me decide what kind of space I need.
    Like rustling branches whisper “I am here.”
    And if I need you, I’ll extend my hand.
    But if I don’t… I hope you’ll understand.

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  149. Pingback: 2023 WINNERS of the Fall Writing Frenzy – Kaitlyn Leann Sanchez

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