Almost Wordless Wednesday – #3

For this week’s edition, I promise to keep things as wordless as possible. (I have instructed Cleo the Cat to pounce on the keyboard, should I get too exuberant. She just looked at me and walked away, so that plan may not prove quite feasible.) All I will say is that this photo was taken in Spain during one of our trips. Your mission, should you accept: Write a whimsical comment about what might have happened just before the camera clicked.

That’s it. I’m not saying any more.

Okay, maybe just a little more.

It hurts me to write such a short blog post. It hurts! The pain is real, people.

Taking a deep breath and stifling my inexplicable need for verbosity. I’m sure I’ll need therapy.

The ball is now in your court.

Amaze me.



42 replies »

  1. I will lend you,
    Herbert the CAT.
    If, you pass,
    all my extensive,
    e background checks.

    One of Herbert,
    the cat,
    great accomplishments,
    is always marching across my keyboard,
    in the same way,
    disabling the exact same functions,
    each time.

    Creating a problem,
    none of us can,

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh, this is good. Isn’t it amazing how those little furry feet know just where to land so that your lovely work-in-progress becomes a minefield mess of screwed-up this and that? I didn’t even KNOW my laptop could do some of the things the cat can make it do. And then I can’t fix it because I don’t know how they did it. New document, start over… 😉


  2. Meanwhile, after finding the downstairs bathroom locked and the portapotty occupied, Bert decided that a trip to the bushes and a little laundry soap would fix the error of his lunch time choices. 😉

    Thought I would refer to a previous post, too. 😉
    And, I like your “verbosity” too. I don’t see you as verbose. 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

    • Kudos to the clever flashback. This is just one of the many reasons why I think you are so swell. You remember the stories and you appreciate my almost clinical obsession with obscure references… 😉


  3. It was such a lovely picnic sitting on that little hill over-looking the little Spanish village. The wine flowed along with the conversation; shame no-one noticed the ants nest.
    Your restraint with this post was admirable Brian but personally I find your verbosity very appealing ;O) x

    Liked by 3 people

  4. V Herb Ose didn’t understand photographic surrealism. He scoffed at the outrageous prices people paid for gallery portraits.

    “That’s not art,” he mumbled. “I can do better than that.”

    And so he did.

    Here, for your online enjoyment: “For Cleo. Shorts and sweat”

    Liked by 1 person

  5. The wind, called Mariah if you like, gusted down the Spanish coastline. It wound up blowing (breezing?) through a certain anonymous courtyard paved in hand-crafted Spanish tiles, made by home grown Spanish persons. It swirled around lazily, because, after all, this was SPAIN and siesta isn’t just a suggestion – it’s a lifestyle – and spotted the clothes line filled with four shorts (swimming trunks? Perhaps) and an inexplicable t-shirt that got lost on the way to the proper basket, filled with other shirts. We all like to see our own kind I suppose. But there’s always that brave and fool hearty one who will buck convention simply because it IS convention and convention is stuffy. The wind crept up the adobe whitewashed wall and peeked briefly into the shadowed and surprisingly cool room within. What it spied there made it gasp in shock and surprise and huffily depart, leaving the air still, close and hot once more. Now it’s widely known that Goldilocks had a ‘thing’ for bears, but what hasn’t been mentioned is that they all went swimming together and afterward shed their wet clothes and scurried their behinds up the wide steps into the shadowed room, previously mentioned. There was Baby Bear (the smallest shorts, although Goldi had a smaller behind, given she was a human girl and not a bear); then Goldi’s shorts (she borrowed her brother’s and his XXXL t-shirt, because even small human girls know better than to go skinny dipping with strange bears. There is an unlimited potential for misunderstanding all around), then Mama Bear’s with the expandable elastic waistband (her figure never was the same after the birth of Baby Bear, but such is the case with mothers everywhere or so I hear) and finally Papa Bear’s plaid swimming trunks of immense-i-tude. He had to shop in the “Portly Bears” department at the local clothing store. The four – three alike and one not alike at all – slept the sleep of carefree creatures everywhere in a land where nobody judges anyone else – regardless of specie. The fact that they were all naked didn’t escape the notice of the wind, who was a judgmental wind and a bit of a blow hard if things were truly known. Nobody else noticed.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Okay, there’s no need for any further discussion on the judging committee. This one wins, hand down. I haven’t even read all the comments, but come on. This is a superb example of flash fiction, done well. (And don’t even tell me that you may have spent time on this, editing and such. I don’t want to to know that. I prefer to think that this flew out of your ass in a frenzy of spontaneous creativity, and I mean that in a loving way, despite the imagery.)


  6. Once Upon a Time – a band of happy go lucky vacationers decided to head to a lovely beach. They neglected to take beach umbrellas; however, and the sun was just too intense.

    They chose, instead, to go on a steep hillside hike. This would be most excellent exercise, and would also whet their appetites for wine and oysters later on.

    Alas, as they moved uphill at a healthy pace, they realized they were near a rookery of breeding seabirds. Once again, they regretted not having brought umbrellas. They never made it to the top of the hill. Being covered in much bird shit killed the mood and they all stunk to high hellish heaven. They couldn’t get down the hill fast enough, and they were amazed how the slimy shit and discomfort of the shit increased their pace to that of sprinters.

    They reached their lodging, dislodged their clothing as fast as they could and dumped it in a nearby pond. There they let their things soak the rest of the day. Before bedtime, they hung their soaked clothes out to dry.

    The vacationers enjoyed many oysters and much champagne at dinner, then retired, exhausted and soused from their hillside ordeal. They also learned that umbrellas are not only necessary on eainy days…

    Liked by 2 people

    • Something tells me you were there, but we just didn’t notice. I thought I heard something odd in the nearby forest as we were shucking-off our splattered clothing. I will make a mental note that the next time I think I hear a camera clicking under a lemon tree, it’s probably a camera clicking under a lemon tree. To be fair, I was a bit distracted by the miasma of avian processing, but I should have been more astute with my initial perceptions. Sometimes it takes a while for me to fully process adult responsibilities.

      For the record, the champagne and oysters were divine. And I now always carry a collapsible umbrella in my shorts pocket. Well, besides the one I already had… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh noes! I’ve been discovered! Yes, i admit it was i in the lemon grove clicking away! Alas, i got caught in the shitstorm myself, sans umbrella. (That’ll teach me to be a camera toting stalker.) That gull poop was hard to get out of my hair, let me tell you. By the time i got to the restaurant, no champagne or oysters left for me. Only Riunite red and pollock stew. Sigh. But i deserved that…

        Liked by 2 people

  7. What happens at the hot springs stays at the hot springs.
    Unfortunately, so did their shorts. Which is how Brian and his entourage spent the remainder of the evening in jail. On the plus side, their shorts smelled springtime fresh.

    Liked by 2 people

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