Theme for March: Nests

New Month, New Theme… Nests

Review of Instructions for Submissions:

Grab your camera and take photos that represent the theme to you.

Then, once you have a bunch of stellar pictures, choose your favorite and write a creative piece that shares your insight into the photo you took: story, poem etc.  Be extraordinary!  (250 words-ish)


Send your photos (via attachment and in jpg format) and  your story/words to the following e-mail:    storiedimpressions at gmail dot com

In the subject line:     SI Submission

Please make the size of your photo a max of 680 pixels horizontally so it will fit prominently in the blog.

In the body of the email – paste your story/words.

Please include your name and website so that I can give you full credit and link it to your site.

THEN…Read at least three other posts and comment, comment, comment!

Be interactive.  A community is more fun than going alone.

Have fun – submit often!



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February Winner of the Clematis Award

Clematis Award IconClematis Winner for February 2013

Red Ribbon
by Alexandra Weston
Twitter: @AlexWestonyork

Congratulations to Alexandra for a beautiful photograph and words.
Alexandra, feel free to download the Clematis Award icon to let your followers know of your great success!

And a BIG Thank You to all who voted!

To read Alexandra’s winning piece go to the Clematis Winner’s Circle page.

Then participate for MARCH – the theme is: Nests

Take a photo of something you consider to be a nest and then write a short (250 words-ish) piece to accompany the photo.  Email me (storiedimpressions (at)gmail(dot)com) your photo (jpg) and words and I’ll post on this blog shortly thereafter.

Have fun, enter as often as you like.  Looking forward to seeing and reading great things from you all.

Here’s to March!


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Voting Time!

Clematis Award IconTime to Vote for February’s
Clematis Award Winner.

Voting is only open 24 hours.
~  So don’t delay!  ~


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The Cornelian Cabochon

New Amazon Collection

Ring by Gisele Ganne:

Story by
Gretchen Fogelstrom

She awoke in the darkness.  Her eyes opened but the blackness was complete.  She took a breath and felt the deep chill of the air rush into her.  As panic tugged at every fiber of her body she began to move her arms into the surrounding space, hoping to feel, something.

The air seemed to grow colder as she reached out from her body.  Trying to control her trembling, she started inching herself up to a sitting position.  As she moved, her leg slipped off an edge, nothing below, just empty.  She quickly retracted and started to scoot away, but her hand slipped off another edge and she teetered prone, half on and half off of, something.  Stifling a scream she made herself freeze. Stop, take control!

Slowly, rotating to her hands and knees, she gained solid ground.  Slow down, she told herself, see with your touch, move slowly.   The flat stone she was on sloped upward toward a rough wall of sorts.  Taking a deep breath, she inched herself closer to the solid wall and exhaled.  Now think!

And then it all rushed back to her.

She felt her finger and yes, it was there;  the blood red Cornelian Cabochon, the Life-Ring of the Amazonian Under-Lord.  The gift was from an antiquities dealer she had supplied for many years.  As he grumbled about having to pay her high fees  he turned, winked and tossed her a small package.

“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just a knock-off, thought you’d find it funny considering what you went through to get that last piece for me” he shrugged.  Then added “Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”

As she opened the box to the exquisite ring.  He told her it was just a re-production and with a snicker, said not to worry, the legend wasn’t true anyway, so the Under-Lord wouldn’t miss it.

As she left him, she chuckled, she had saved the best piece to auction off herself.  That sleaze isn’t paying me enough for all I do for him.  Walking through the steaming streets of La Boca, she felt a movement between her fingers, slippery and slimy.  As she looked down at her hand the skull head on the ring twisted and turned its head up to hers, the eyes piercing a yellow glow.  Then the red pool of the cornelian began to swirl faster and faster and then splashed over onto the cobblestones.  Hissing and spitting the stones broke apart and she was sucked through, down, down, down.


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Dwelling On The Mystery

Oscar + Museu de ArtePhoto and Story
by Gretchen Fogelstrom

He just sat there staring.  I think he could see his own reflection in the glass.  But from my angle it looked like he was dwelling on the tears streaming down her face.  I could almost hear him say to himself, “why, why does she cry?” as he cocked his head to the right.

He sat there for nearly an hour.  So quiet. So still. Just staring.

Then, slowly he raised his paw, reaching out to touch the red side of her face, sweet and caressing.  It was so gentle and full of emotion.  His paw curling and un-curling.

His head righted and then all of a sudden he jumped, straight into the picture, the blue and white strands of her hair parted and he was gone.  I think I saw a small upward movement in the corners of her mouth and the tracks of her tears seemed to fade.


The Trifecta weekly challenge word: DWELL, combined with Storied Impressions theme: RED.

I took the photo of this painting I have hanging in my house – painted for me by the Director of the Museo de Arte in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala 20 years ago!  And then super-imposed the silhouette of my cat Oscar.

Ever thought of jumping into the world of a painting?


Filed under Contests and Such, February, Uncategorized

The Big Day

Photo Credit: Ermisenda:

Photo Credit: Ermisenda:

Story by Gretchen Fogelstrom

The morning had been dark and threatening.  My mood was the same.  I felt I couldn’t rise to the occasion.  Even if the occasion was a celebration of Me.  But did I really have any choice?

My friends, thank goodness I have good friends, had been organizing a party to celebrate my 50th birthday, under the stars, with sparkling lights of all colors, a fun band, good food and drink and probably lots and lots of dancing.

I had to pull out of my funk.  I needed to feel alive, not half-way to dead.  But just as I was about to crawl  back-under the covers a knock at the door.  I grumpily got up and opened to my dearest friend, coffees in hand.   “Happy Birthday” she gently said as she noticed my scowl.

In her hand was a not only coffee, which I took greedily, but a bag with the insignia of my favorite dress shop.  As she sat down she told me that I had half an hour to shower and then she was whisking me off to a day at the spa – full treatment.  Just us girls.  Being 50 was going to start off with luxury and end with laughing on the dance floor, according to her.

I couldn’t help but smile.  Before I could rise to shower, she pulled out of her bag the beautiful red dress I had been eying for a month, but couldn’t justify the cost.  I couldn’t help but start to cry.  How could I possibly have such an amazing friend?  50 was going to be great.


Picture It & Write!   I decided to combine Storied Impressions RED theme with Picture It & Write’s photo prompt this week – hope you enjoyed!


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Red Mini

red miniPhoto and Story
by Neens

I remember the miles of open grey road
Tom sitting comfortably behind my wheel,
The time he took Rose to the Town Hall
to dance the night away.

Her lipstick smile, when we pulled up
to greet her with a large bouquet of red and pink roses,
How she ruffled her dress as she slid
carefully into my passenger seat.

For years they sat inside me,
Laughing and talking long journeys through,
Tuning in my crackly radio and praising
me for my faithful service.

Tom started to worry that I would break down,
Cost them money they no longer had,
Rose filled out paperwork for bus passes,
tried her best to convince Tom to accept.

He hid it inside my glove box
And drove me through the Winter and into the Spring,
Patting the seat where his wife used to sit.
Talking to me in lieu of her absence.

Tom’s bus pass is still in my glove box,
I am just as I was left, minus my driver,
Rose could never bring herself to sell me,
I am part of their story.

Sitting out here, marking
the passing of time.


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