Friday Fictioneers for September 16th, 2022

For mid-September, our fantastic Mistress of Friday Fictioneering fantasy, Rochelle, poked us with the picture of Pincushion Hakea flowers provided through the good graces of Trish Nankeville.

The lovely photo inspired my memory, and I considered a quote by Henry David Thoreau that Rochelle has posted on her blog in the past, it’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see. Some say it was written as, “The question is not what you look at, but what you see.” (From the essay, “Walking.”) Whatever—close enough. What you see is a good theme.

I’m fascinated by the work of people who see around us the things I miss: the artists and photographers who’s work I often borrow to enrich my world. Through their art, I get to see what they see: a lovely natural world.

Click on Trish’s photo of the red pincushion flowers to be transplanted into Rochelle’s blog where you can learn how to set your roots into the Wednesday, Friday Fictioneers writer community.

PHOTO PROMPT © Trish Nankeville

Genre: Autobiographical Fiction
Title: Thoreau’s Pincushion Hakea
Word Count: 100


We walked the path near the lake. Jay was a talented amateur photographer who did all his own film processing.

He said, “It’s like hunting. Look there. What do you see?”

I replied, “Weeds and stickers.”

We knelt and he spritzed water on the weeds.

“Look closer.”

I looked. “Wow. I didn’t even see the flowers much less that spider’s web. Now it all glistens.”

He said, “Everything is a subject or a scene. I use other things, lighting, angles, and point of view to enhance it. I do more in the lab. It’s the beauty of nature artfully staged.”


Look both ways. What you see matters.
Mind the gaps for the hidden fruits of nature’s beauty.


Click on Waken Pond to float over to the FF squares page where more wonderful stories are linked.

Poetry — NaNoWriMo: Of God’s Little Pests

The day nine poem prompt of the 2018 National Poetry Writing Month challenge was for me to write a poem in which something big and something small come together.

If you’ve experienced fire ants, you know. If you have not, you may want to read this.

I wrote this as a single sentence poem without line breaks so that it can be a fast, angry read. All the king’s power will not eradicate the fecking, misery-causing tiny fire ant.

Henry David Thoreau wrote a famous essay about ants and humans and combat. You can read it here.

Fire ants survived well Hurricane Harvey

Of God’s Little Pests

Thoreau did not know, nor did his essay thus show, the vicious pertinacity of your many tribes to attack and destroy, to sting and cause pain, to kill and devour, to disrupt with the evil of nature’s horror where the fittest survive, but not your power and numbers, that even all Texas resources with added more state and nation agriculture war departments, we burn and we poison, we kill and we murder, we hire mercenary flies to eat away your brain; yet you invade and continue your fight to survive costing billions each year with panic and pain, so that even attacks from Zeus Urei and the rains of Harvey allow you to still survive and produce from one queen astronomical numbers to replace workers each day and the best of science still calls you an exotic invasive species, still you’re a stinging nasty fire ant to me and you always will be, and you win, but I hate you.

(Bill Reynolds, 4/9/2018)

Standing or walking the land in the south USA,
look down and both ways for fire ant mounds.
If you don’t, you’ll soon learn. Mind the gaps.

Click link to National Poetry Writing Month