"Why Open the Door if No Refreshing Breeze Comes In?"

The title quote came from one of today's writers. The response to the "Power of 3" writing prompt is like a refreshing breeze to me. The door was opened...and the wind of well-written prose blew in. Here are the blog links of our participating writers.  Be sure and let them know you dropped by.

1. Belinda: Three Things I Can't Do Without

2. Karin: Three Things I Like to Wear

3. Betsy: Three Ways to Keep My Head Above Water

4. Karen: Three Things I Want in a Relationship

5. Suzanne: Natural Disaster: Three Things I would take with me

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Unable to post on her secure blog:

This I Fear

By B.R.

I would cross the Empty Quarter by camel, but I fear the nights by a smoking fire, trembling in my sleeping bag waiting for the scorpions to emerge from the darkness, dragging their spiny tails behind them. I fear the angry tribesmen I may come upon who guard their territory and honor and women ferociously even though all but the women were stripped from them years ago. I fear there may not be too many convenience stores along the way, or that my GPS device might not survive the sandstorms. I long to be the next Wilfred Thesinger in all his humble assimilation and discerning alertness, but I fear I may only curl up and die around Dune #3.

I would go sky-diving if it weren’t for the co-counselor I worked with at a summer camp. We were sitting on our bunks the first night, sharing stories when she told me of her brother, a sky-diving instructor. On one dive, his chutes just didn’t open, didn’t balloon up with the life-giving air they depended on so much. His sails flapped limply until gravity could thrust his body no further. His student landed with ease in an open pasture. If it weren’t for that co-counselor – and the field of scorpions I would inevitably land in if I were to make a successful jump – I would be on the next thrilling sky excursion you planned.

I would share who I really am with you if it wasn’t for fearing your raised-eyebrow reaction. My heart I would give to you on a plate, if I didn’t fear so much you returning the dish untouched, the contents grown cold, the chef deeply offended. There is nothing worse than mustering courage to share my story, memory, dream, only to have someone nod carefully, smile thinly, or laugh lightly, without reciprocation or questions. The awkward moment passes. So I fear that if I were to fling open the windows like that with you, there may only be darkness – or worse, scorpions – to greet me. Why open a door if no refreshing breeze rushes in? Why unlatch the shutters if no light will come pouring through the cracks?

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