PROMPTuesday #30: Over the Hills and Far Away



(Painting by Rebecca)


This PROMPTuesday, make up a story inspired by the picture above. Include the link to your story/post in the comments or feel free to leave your submission here, also in the comments section.


I’ll be back to submit my take on it tomorrow, but…
meanwhile…to bone up on PROMPTuesdays, read a bit about it here.


Or, catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.


Happy dreaming.


15 Responses to “PROMPTuesday #30: Over the Hills and Far Away”

  1. vodkamom says:

    okay. I WILL work on this. I’ll do it this afternoon- is that okay??


  2. Cheri’s PROMPTuesday #30 submission is up over at Blog This Mom!

    Thanks, Deb.

    Hugs and kisses and warm thoughts for you today.

  3. I played this week. Here’s the link.

  4. we_be_toys says:

    Isn’t this the picture your grandmother painted during her “Grandma Moses” period? I love that we get to see it again!

    I don’t know if I’m up to writing about anything these days – words seem to be sticking in the corners of my mind lately, clumping together like wet leaves, and refusing to wash downstream onto the page.

    I will say that I love several things about this painting: the wonderful tree in the foreground is my favorite part of this, partly because I just love to paint old gnarled trees myself, partly because it creates a tension or foreboding that seems to be echoed in the sillhouetted figures just to the left of it. They’re emerging from the young, green trio of evergreens and are caught between them and the dying tree. Off in the distance the church beckons to them, but whether it’s salvation or another trap remains to be seen.
    I’d love to know what your grandmother (it WAS your grandmother, right?) was thinking about when she painted this. Not just what she planned or blocked out, but what was going through her head while she was painting.

  5. San Diego Momma says:

    RE: The “back story” on this painting — my dear friend, Rebecca, dreamed this image one night, and woke up the next morning to paint it, exactly as she saw it in the dream.

  6. robyn says:

    The painting is *beautiful*. Rebecca was/is gifted.

  7. […] You can only take 10 minutes though!  Put your creative efforts here in comments, or on SanDiegoMamma’s blog, or on your own blog with a link back to her […]

  8. g says:

    Mine’s up.

    Not too cheerful, but maybe that’s cuz I’m sitting at work!

  9. San Diego Momma says:

    We’d been told to look for the tree. A dark, gnarled thing, poking the sky like bony fingers. Just when we’d thought to give up, the black branches loomed large before the crest of a hill, marking the way to the church. It’d been a long journey, one we undertook with little food and some resistance. But now that we’d almost reached our destination, we dragged our feet, eventually stopping to stare at the first building we’d seen for weeks.


    “Do you think it’ll be OK now?” I asked.


    Pa squinted into the distance. “I hope so.”


    He said it carefully, honestly. Since the invasion, he hadn’t minced words.


    “Have they followed us?” I knew he didn’t know. But I wanted him to answer just the same.


    “I can’t say.”


    We’d begun to walk again, and slowly approached the black iron gate encircling the safe house. It didn’t look like much.


    “Safe house? That’s what they call it?” Pa snorted.


    Fear gripped my stomach, turning it over onto itself. “Pa?”


    He turned to look where I was pointing, hesitated for a long minute, then called, “Merrie?” He used the pet name he had for ma.


    I’d seen this before. The person I looked at was no way my mother, with her gray skin, loose jaw and bowed legs, but Pa was gone in the memory of her.


    “Pa? We need to go.” I said it quietly, not hinting at the urgency I felt. They responded to emotion.


    “Merrie, Merrie,” my dad sang. “My Merrie. You’ve come back.”


    It looked at me as I backed away, but let me go as it held its arms out to Pa.


    “Come here my sweet,” It grunted like a pig.


    I ran, not stopping until I reached the tree, giving myself one last chance to look back.


    Pa stood behind the iron gate, waving at me with a gray smile stretching his once beautiful face.


  10. Me says:

    Okay…here’s mine. Be kind, but honest, because how I would love to write like you and some of these other people.

  11. vodkamom says:

    i read slouching mom’s response, and knew I was fucked. I couldn’t POSSIBLY write one after THAT. next time I write without looking at ANYONE’S. i promise.

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