Breath in Wood
Small Heat Challenge
Mahogany harp,
Your breath melts pure icicles,
Warm sighs between notes.
About the Creator
Pamela Williams
“Suppose I had wings like the dawning day and flew across the ocean. Even then your powerful arm would guide and protect me.”
— Psalm 139:9–10, Contemporary English Version (CEV)
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A Prayer
As we brace for change, let’s all bow our heads to his amazing Grace. In Yeshua’s name. May we pray. Dear Heavenly Father, I know you can see, the weight of the world has been heavy indeed, we need your decrees, your wisdom, your light, to shine abundantly in this horrible fight. We march, we scream all for our needs, we speak from our knees as we plant more seeds. More seeds of hope that one day, peace becomes the resting platform of the chosen. We search for essence, just to match our potential, been in situations that blocks our intentions, manifested in wholeness, tried to call on a breakthrough from practical emotions, yet still we feel defeated. Fighting in our Egypt, the wilderness is cold, you always see it, you gave us mama and a new fight for hope. We search for our leader to call upon our needs, not patronizing the fact that the pews need to have seats. Your alter was built on the back of your strength, your word, the creation that empowers this nation. I say father God, I draw near to you in these times with a heavy heart. Modesty and humility leaning on your conviction, the predictions, but everyone refuse to accept the premonition. The gifted left in a field wandering, knowing that the land is milk and honey, but hungry still. In the stillness of this peace, you’ve centered me to see that the cornerstone of rock bottom has been the alter to my callings, yet some refuse to retreat. Not fighting a battle that’s yours in deed, in my God like energy you bestowed upon me. You poured into the cup, it overflows from your love, your mercies multiplied through the mirror of your son. The sacrifice of consciousness, how do we imply wisdom, learn from the last mistakes it’s called repentance. I stand in intersession, not in the intersections, can’t rush through traffic you’re the only direction. The pressing, the oil, the refined testimony that’s already won again. We come to ask for forgiveness from what we did to your son, we come to shower the joys of love that’s given to us, grace and hope, happiness to be woke, desired to be love. We thank you for choosing us and we already know there’s no one else above. As long as there is the word there is law. And as long as there is law there is man, thank you Heavenly Father, once again.
By Charelle Landersabout 19 hours ago in Poets
Becca
"Everything is so... flat." Denille said stupidly as she looked around her new neighborhood. She looked around at the muted desert where even the smallest sign of life seemed to have given up. The plant life was shrubs that were half cooked by the heat and where there should have been a lawn, a mess of white rocks laid glistening in the sun. Even the sky looked stretched thin, like the sun had ironed it smooth. She’d moved from Riverside, where at least there were hills, but here in Barstow, everything felt baked and brittle.
By Sara Wilson8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (8)
I love how “warm sighs between notes” captures what happens in the spaces of music, not just the sound itself. It’s a subtle, elegant way to express intimacy and presence.
Perfect depiction of harp sound- nicely done Pamela
This is such an interesting and unique take on the challenge!
Love the image and the concept of your words
Wow, this is very creative, Pamela, wood producing heat not by burning but by playing an elegant and sophisticated instrument. I loved this!
That felt so blissful. So beautifully written. Loved it so much!
This is beautiful Pamela. I too love the last line, and the photo. Nicely Done!!!
This is so lovely, Pamela! I love the last line.