L.N. Alberts

*Inspired by The Skiff by Pierre-Auguste Renoir* Image From  The National Gallery By LN Alberts A myriad of color burst free with every stroke, spoiling the gentle flush painted on her cheek. No longer a reflection, still waters now awoke, a dance across the surface where sun and air meet. The tepid summer breeze offers little respite, from the oppressive pass of Helios at noon. “A jaunty trip” she offers, ever so polite. No destination, no time set. Our return? “Soon.” Free from the shores that threaten to hem us in, we find a peacefulness among the trout and duck. The baneful suitors’ glares no longer count our sin as we swap stories of the ancient heroes’ luck. “Odysseus cannot compare,” she insists to me, “to the clever tricks of Circes and her magic spell.” Intent to prove the creation of a fallacy, in the so-called epic that Homer tried to sell. I listen with a patient ear to her fierce defense, and cannot help admiring her impassioned plea. Within a woman’s heart there ...

By LN Alberts I see him clear as day, through my childish view, but stepping back, my gaze wizened, seeing the world from his shoes. I see a very different place, his life so unfamiliar. It's then when I realize, he's more than a father figure.   Through my father's eyes, he is a husband, trusted friend, to a beautiful, loving bride, her devotion without end. Through my father's eyes, he is a son and stalwart brother, needed to stand side by side by family and others. Through my father's eyes, he is a generous stranger. Giving of his time and strength, despite the cost and danger. Through my father's eyes, he is a trusted employee. Always dedicated and loyal, loathe to finally leave. My father was a gentle soul, who found true peace at last. His time ended here on earth, so I admire him from his past.

By LN Alberts Buried deep in the wooded glade, the hunter lies statue still. His ever watchful eyes searching for movement on the hill. A pair of fawns, carefree and spry, dance across the lawn. Their clever games and joyful noises greeting the coming dawn. The hunter grins, his spirit high, when they begin to chase each other. A doe follows cautiously, ears alert, their fiercely protective mother. His hands itch to raise his gun, but his enraptured gaze remains. The innocent way they play reminds him of his own. Still asleep in their beds, waiting for him to come home. Sunlight peeks through leaves, as the darkness gently wanes. A reproachful grunt of the doe, signals her disapproval. The fawns, undaunted, bound away, unmoved by her scruple. The hunter's heartbeat quickens, his opportunity soon will fade. He grips his rifle tightly, easing it to his shoulder blade. Silently, he leans into position, aligning his sight just so. And he is rewarded for his hesitation, with the fleeing...

  By LN Alberts Every Sunday was the same, he thought solemnly. Holding down the very last pew, half-hearing the homily. A shimmer from the doorway, stealing his attention. A glimpse of her gentle features, held him in suspension. She silently slipped into the crowd, well after the service started. Her fingers smoothed the tresses, affirming it was parted. He swallowed nervously, but could not avert his stare. Her fair skin and gilded locks glowed faintly in the sunlit glare. He planned an introduction, when services were through. He would invite her to lunch, perhaps even a drink or two. He glanced her way again and his apprehension grew. She met his gaze with lifted brow, his curiosity renewed. Grinning now, he nodded at her amused by her reaction. The congregation stood to sing, blocking his distraction. All throughout the service,  his mind whirled with wonder. As the final prayer was read, his plan fell asunder. He waded through the crowd, his determination winning o...

By LN Alberts  In memory of my Dad.   The engine hums a noisy tune beneath the rider's feet. He straightens his stance a bit, slides forward in the seat. An American flag adorns his head bandana wrapped up tight. Leather jacket, denim, boots, well attired for a blustery night. Helmet drops onto his head, a visor over his face. He revs the engine gingerly, prepared to leave this place. One last glance behind him, at the one he'd likely never miss was enough motivation to propel him into the abyss. Darkness cloaked him fully, no lights or stars this night. No guidance for his journey, but the glow of a lone headlight. Off he sailed, through the storm, without purpose or a plan. A ride alone could save him, restore this weary man. The wind tore at his jacket, roared loudly at his head. The blacktop below flew by, as he floated on the treads. His mind cleared of anger, body relieved of the fight. His soul reawakened, restored, filled with spiritual light. Nothing spoke to his hear...

My childhood self. By LN Alberts Hair dancing in the summer breeze, a solitary figure among the trees. Deep-set eyes fixed on me, her expression, fierce and keen. From the top of a sand-coated hill, she beckons softly, testing my will. A soul let fly, now wild and free, it's wisps of memory taunting me. Her lightning gaze calls me near, promising adventure without fear. I close my eyes, shield my mind, as her alluring thoughts intertwined with the desire of my heart to join her, so high upon the rampart. Once we were one, in youth, but now I fight her burning truth. Those days of unrequited energy, that unending burst of internal synergy, has long dissolved into the past my youthful soul fading so fast. Someday, she and I will rejoin again, when freedom returns, in the end.