Time

The Eleventh Hour, Clock, Time, Disaster
Pixabay

Liquid, Fluid

Flowing past

Each moment brief

Never lasts

Yet on its journey

We are swept away

Until we at last

Face Judgement Day

Liquid, Fluid

Flowing past

It is our deeds that matter

It’s them that last

So as the days – their course do run

Leave your mark on every one


Padre

FOWC with Fandango — Liquid

Time Traveller

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Clem Rogers was outriding on the drive when a twister began to bear down on the herd. Before he knew it he was caught up in the whirling vortex. He awoke rather battered but alive in a dry gulch.

As he lay there trying to come to his senses, a rider wearing some odd blue denim trousers came across him. She was tolerably pretty, but Clem wondered why she was dressed like a man.

“You okay?” the newcomer asked. “Can’t believe you survived. I saw you fall and thought you’d have been killed.”

“I reckon I’ve been better,” Clem responded.

The stranger dismounted, and aided Clem to the horse and helped him to mount. He then led the horse to a ranch house about a mile away.

“I’m Donna, by the way,” she said as they made their way.

“Good to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Clem Rogers.”

As they approached the house, Clem saw a blue pickup in the drive, and a strange metal dish on the side of the house.

“Miss Donna, what is that thing?” he asked nodding towards the truck.

“You must have taken some serious bang to the head if you can’t recognise a truck.”

As they entered the house two teenagers sat on a couch watching television. Clem blinked a couple of times, but decided that he must be hallucinating. Maybe Donna was right about the head injury.

She led him into the kitchen and told him to sit at the table.

“Do you want some coffee?” she asked.

“That would be mighty kind of you,” he repiled.

She then scooped some grounds from a jar and placed them into the cappuccino maker.

“What in tarnation is that contraption?”

“It’s a coffee maker,” she replied.

“My word, why don’t you just make it in a pan?” he asked.

“A pan?”

“Just boil it up,” he replied.

“That sounds disgusting,” she said.

“Guess I got used to it that way out on the drive.”

“Drive?”

“You know – the cattle drive,” Clem elaborated.

“Goodness you don’t look that old. There hasn’t been a drive near here since the 30s.”

“How can that be Ma’am, they didn’t start till they brought the railroad to Abilene?”

“What year do yo think this is?” she asked with some concern in her voice.

“Ain’t it 1888?”


Padre

This story was inspired by the FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER prompt, but is well over a hundred words too long for the challenge.

Visiting the Past

Photo credit: © Pixabay.com

The past is open to us

It requires no machine

For in our memory

We can recall what we’ve seen

 

Our lives roll out before us

All that’s come a fore

With a smile we can remember

Events we adore

 

Our loves and fond encounters

To visit in our minds

Requiring just moment

Never leaving them behind

 

So time travel is a concept

Not made just for science fiction

But a reality to us all

With just a little reflection

 

Padre

 

Inspiration Call: Time Travel

Time travel was a genre of both literature and film that my wife, Dianne enjoyed.  She marveled at concept and adored Dr Who, Time Traveller’s Wife, Somewhere in Time, and so many more.  I am blessed now by the memory of having shared these with her, and as the poem suggests revisiting the life we had together.