As the GRANDIOSE parade of bikers made their formation the sound of another MOTORCYCLE could be heard in the distance. A lone rider appeared over the hill, and pulled into the last space in the formation before the group headed for the road. The rider appeared to be much younger than this group of professionals, but greeted them with a nod as they rode out. They were to make Wind River Canyon by nightfall so had some ground to cover. As no one was FLYING OFF THE HANDLE, to take the lead position, Tyler, a well-respected businessman, took charge of the group. They were all ready for a fun-filled weekend.
Sitting around the campfire that evening the night air was more brisk than a SUMMER breeze, but it felt good to be out in the open with a star-covered sky above. As Tyler gazed into the fire it brought back memories from his past. There was something about the lone rider that made him recall happier times before tragedy stuck. He had gained success as the lead singer in the rock group, BLUE JAYS. He still wore a ring with the blue jay crest design: the only reminder of those days. He had given his daughter a ring to match as she was his delight. He and his wife had divorced years ago, but he could still recall the night when his wife was away, and he was beaten. His daughter, age 7, was kidnapped from their home that night. There was no ransom asked and the FBI never found a trace. This was 20 years ago, but it still hurt when he thought of his little girl. He started singing a lullaby..a song the two would sing. Her voice was like an angel and he missed her. As he sang he imagined he could hear her voice. The others looked around as they too heard an angelic voice coming from the far side of the fire. They saw the lone rider move within the circle and approach Tyler as the song ended. Tyler's eyes were misty as he saw a young lady before him. Who was she? could this be? nah!.was it?? as she stood before him with tears steaming down her face, she said the words he never expected to hear again. Daddy! a chain around her neck held a child's ring that had a blue jay design. There was time to learn of how she came to be there, but for now, just holding her in his arms was enough. He could feel his pain slipping away.
A MORTORCYCLE club came rolling,
through a quaint little town..
People watched from windows,
some faces wore a frown..
They viewed this GRANDIOSE procession,
and wondered what was going on..
As these bikers continued onward,
on this beautiful SUMMER dawn.
Little did the residents know,
that the purpose of this ride..
Was to benefit a family,
of a little boy who'd died..
To assist them with medical expenses,
help feed a family of six..
All these people saw were 'riders',
who they considered - society's misfits.
So, I'm here to say to all who'll hear,
don't "FLY OFF THE HANDLE"- with attitudes..
For one never knows a true purpose,
reasons - are often misconstrued..
And, just like this riding group,
members of the club - BLUE JAYS,
There are others out there,
who assist many - in heartfelt ways.
and the blogger took on the 10-word to bring Dr. Hill back:
Dr. Hill’s belongings were in PUDDLES around his office. It was time to pack up to head home after the season’s dig. As always, the dig had been an exercise in chasing an elusive QUARRY. The functionary from the Minister of Antiquities had continually popped up like a JACK-IN-THE-BOX bearing a LETTER from the religious authorities more often than Dr. Hill could afford. Each letter always had a fee attached, and Dr. Hill suspected his contributions were funding the functionary’s HOUSEKEEPING bills rather than preserving any real antiquities. Reflecting on this, he continued his packing. He took down the sole can of CLAM CHOWDER from the shelf. Who on earth would bring canned clam chowder to an archeological dig in IRAN? He smiled at the label. The chowder depicted was sufficiently disgusting looking that it had deterred theft. Hill tucked the can inside his backpack. He’d take it with him to close down the trenches today just to be safe.
Leaving the cool room that he called home, Hill traversed the market place where a few weeks back the imitation statues had shown up over night. They’d done so with a SPEED unmatched at any of Hill’s previous digs. That event had brought several functionaries down to the site. They moved like a CHORUS LINE following him all day peppering him with questions. He smiled at the memory as he trudged along.
A tug on his hand caused him to look down. There, a little girl with a broad smile and APPLES for cheeks was looking at him adoringly. “I’m sorry Laila, I don’t have any treats today. They’re all gone now,” he said. She tugged again, trying to get Hill to come with her. “Oh, okay, I’ll come, but only for a minute,” he said.” I’ve got a lot to do.” As he ducked through the doorway, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to look and was horrified to see tanks rumbling into the market place. The merchants vanished, abandoning their wares, trying to escape the authorities. Laila’s hand tugged his more urgently and he, recognizing a good thing when he felt it, followed the child into the rabbit warren of homes.
Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: Florida, spit, child bride, operatic, busy, holding pattern, sunflowers, ginger jars, office, superintendent
For the mini challenge: music to my ears, plot, powerful, braggart, super model
/kw
