Now, I’m a middle school math teacher. The days are filled with the chatter of students, the squeak of markers on whiteboards, and the rhythmic ticking of the classroom clock. It’s a far cry from the carefree days of camp, but it’s rewarding in its own way.
Just today, as I was walking down the hallway between classes, I caught a whiff of something that instantly transported me back to those summers at camp. It was a familiar scent, but I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the faint smell of wood smoke from the cafeteria’s kitchen, or perhaps it was a student’s perfume that reminded me of the bug spray we used to slather on.
Whatever it was, it triggered a flood of memories. I remembered the crackling campfires, the gooey s’mores, the silly songs, and the late-night talks with fellow counselors. I remembered the feeling of being surrounded by nature, of being part of something bigger than myself.
For a moment, I was back at camp, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin and the cool breeze in my hair. Then, just as quickly, I was back in the hallway, surrounded by lockers and students. But the memory of those summers at camp stayed with me, a reminder of a time when life was simpler, and the world was full of possibilities. A phantom breeze, a whispered sigh, A scent adrift, that floats nearby. No image seen, no sound so clear, Yet memory’s ghost, it holds me near. Carried upon the gentlest of winds, a fragrance emerges, Unseen, unheard, yet stirring the soul’s embers.
Fragrant Memories
The baking spice, of cinnamon’s heat, A childhood kitchen, bittersweet. Grandma’s apron, flour dust, A warm embrace, in gentle trust. Golden sunlight filters through the window pane, Cinnamon and cloves dance in a sweet refrain. Grandma’s laughter, a comforting sound, In her loving arms, solace is found.
The damp earth’s breath, a mossy stone, A forest path, where I’d roam alone. Green leaves unfurled, a sunlit gleam, A tranquil space, a waking dream. Beneath the canopy of emerald leaves, The forest floor, a tapestry it weaves. Sunlight dappled, a gentle stream flows, Nature’s embrace, where serenity grows.
The salty tang, of ocean spray A distant shore, where children play. Waves crashing soft, on sandy white, A sense of peace, in fading light. The rhythmic symphony of crashing waves, Whispers tales of hidden coves and caves. Seashells scattered, glistening pearls of sand, A tranquil haven, a timeless land.
A worn book’s scent, of aged and deep, Where stories slept, and secrets keep. Paper’s whisper, a silent call A quiet comfort, standing tall. Within the pages, adventures unfold, Tales of heroes, both brave and bold. The scent of old paper, a comforting embrace, In quiet corners, a tranquil space.
These fragile threads, of fragrant air, Unravel time, and banish care. A fleeting moment, held so tight, A scented solace, in the night. Each scent a memory, a chapter untold, Whispers of the past, in stories unfold. A tapestry of moments, woven with care, Fragrant memories, suspended in air. In the stillness of the night, they ignite, A scented solace, bathed in moonlight.
Every writer has their own unique style and approach to writing. Focusing on word counts can lead to feelings of inadequacy or pressure to conform to someone else’s standards. Instead, focus on the quality and impact of your writing. Write from the heart and let your words flow naturally. Remember, writing is a journey and every writer has their own path to follow. So, don’t compare yourself to others and enjoy the process of creating something truly unique and special.
I don’t know how we got here. It feels like it happened overnight, but I know that’s not true. Time is irrelevant now. To think that I used to worry about going to school with wet hair and if my clothes were the right style. Now, all I care about is staying alive and helping others stay alive. I am a survivor. I’ve seen things that no one should ever have to see. I’ve lost people I loved. I’ve been through more pain than I ever thought possible. But I’m still here. I’m still fighting. And I’m not going to give up. None of us are. We are the resistance. We are one of the only holdouts of the human world. I know there are more of us out there, but communications were cut down when the virus took over. We are scattered and alone, but we are not defeated. We will find each other. We will rebuild. We will reclaim our world. We are the survivors. We are the resistance. My name is Griselda, but people call me Selda. I am a survivor.
For anyone who loves reading and those who love writing. Poetry/fiction/nonfiction/ and anything else you want. Artists and writers are all welcome! Share your content and links and whatever promotional material you have with the group!
We are starting a chat for All writers regardless of their level of experience (published, not published, thinking of starting, have started, thinking of starting in the future, etc.)
Here are the rules.
1. Respect all writers, regardless of their experience level.
2. Be kind and supportive. We are not in competition.
3. We are here to lift each other up, not break each other down.
4. All writers are welcome, regardless of their level of experience (published, not published, thinking of starting, have started, thinking of starting in the future, etc.).
5. We are an 18+ community, as some of us might write more mature content. We cannot put a trigger warning on a chat like we do on posts.
6. No drama, no political or religious talk unless it has something to do with your content
If you agree with them, here is the link. This chat is just for members of our group. If you know anyone who wants to join, add them or invite them to our group. Comment here if you want to be added to the chat or click the link.
I would like to start promoting other indie writers and any writers who really want a free promo on my blog. It just might take a while to get to everyone. If you have a book published, send me the blurb about it and the link with some promotional photos.
I can take them as comments, but you can also e-mail me at nancycarber@gmail.com.
I will be promoting on WordPress, Ello, and my own Facebook page.
