Lights #amwriting

My first Friday Fictioneers of the new year…and I’m late. Well, we could say that some things never change, but, well, I’m hoping they will.

I’m back from a wonderful celebration at OBX, where the temperatures were unseasonably warm but delightful.

Here’s to a New Year.

Thank you, Rochelle, as always! You’ve brought something wonderful to my life and writing, and I’m ever so appreciative!

This is partly based on truth…as I guess most stories are.

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Lights

The Goldbergs are forgetful.

In the fall, when chill crinkles leaves, the missus knocks, requests me to turn on or off a light. She visits when she knows I’m home from work, deeming my mother too elderly.

Neighbors.

They erect a vibrant yellow tent. They sing and chant. I hear this as I study and then feel beckoned to watch their shadows swaying. Their tradition, community, makes me ache with longing for something similar.

December. My mother drapes lights over azaleas.

Next door menorahs blaze.

Hope–I feel it–dwells in all of these lights.

end

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23 replies »

  1. Dear Sascha,

    Better late than never. Thank you for your kind words in your intro. They mean a lot.
    As for your story, there’s such a tangible sense of longing to belong. Well told.

    Shalom and happy new year,

    Rochelle

  2. The yearning comes through so strongly. Compelling writing.
    By the way, you’re not the last to arrive at the “party”. I posted mine after yours. 😊

      • I got that. Obviously, there was a menorah in the prompt, but I like that you used a perenially overshadowed holiday as the catalyst for your story instead of the cliché that those who don’t celebrate Christmas don’t fit in and wish they could participate.

  3. I feel like everything has been said already, about the longing and the lights. You’ve written this beautifully, showing longing and interest, but also comfort in the own traditions. And that which unites us all: the longing for light.

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