Putting My Feet In the Dirt #3 Prompt Crispy and Crunchy

Ludwig Sigmundt

Florrie Herold dressed in her finest mourning dress strolls through the botanical gardens miles away from where she actually lives.

She enjoys her journey to the gardens, she never waves at the people she knows but she does bow her head a bit and  gently smiles the way all well mannered ladies do.

When she arrives at the gardens she always stops at the gate and with her eyes closed she takes a deep breath. She slowly opens her eyes and with her heart hammering in her chest and her cheeks flushed with just a trace of pink she steps through the gates and heads for her favorite part of the Garden.

Florrie tries to not rush to the Garden where the flowers- the delicate flowers- are grown and cared for by gardeners with rough and calloused hands. She tries to not smile to broadly, she hopes that her eyes are not shining  because when they shine Florrie’s eyes start to burn and when they do there is nothing lady like about them at all.

At last she arrives to where the flowers live and  when she does she hardly knows which way to turn first. But she finally does- after savoring seconds of delicious expectation and passion and she makes her way from one plant to the next.

She stops here and there and sometimes she reaches out and almost touches the blooms but at the last second she draws her hand away, she steps back and then like a cloud floating across the face of the Sun she reaches out and snaps a petal, sometimes a leaf from her carefully selected victim.

She holds the petal, sometimes the leaf up to her slightly disfigured victim and when she is sure she has it’s undivided attention, her lip curls, she opens her mouth and she puts the blossom into her mouth and chews it so very slowly.

Sometimes she spits it out and sometimes she swallows it but she never fails to draw her finger along the the flower’s stems and she she says, ” I’ll be back later. I promise. ”

Sometimes though, Florrie Herold, ever the lady dressed in her best Mourning dress simply rips the petals from the flowers and drops them carelessly, even thoughtlessly to the ground.

In a Second

RDP  Wednesday: Breach

“Thelonius Monk” 1959
Photographer: Herb Snitzer

In that second

before silence turns to sound

In that moment

before the darkness is filled with light


In that moment when there was nothing at all

something opened the breach

and let the emptiness out.


I wonder where it went to,

which attic, which basement whose bed it’s hiding under now

don’t you?