Electric by Kristina

photo by deanna s - dks 10

Under the moonlit midnight sky, stars appeared like effervescent bubbles in a newly opened bottle of champagne. The air was crisp and cold. Jack Frost was eager to kiss any exposed cheek leaving behind his frigid bite. 

They stopped in the middle of the snow covered country road. She was happy to let him take over at the wheel, excited to be able to lovingly gaze at him instead. A deep breath in before the car doors were swung open and the race to switch seats was on. 

Mid dash, he stopped her. They stood in the middle of the road, young lovers in the night. His embrace was tender. His lips were lush and warm. Under that big beautiful sky, he kissed her. The electricity between them was enough to warm the world.

What moments have you found electric lately? How are you using that electricity? 

by Kristina Wood

Reflection - a No Film Photo

He was thumbing through the LP collection, antiques now, looking for the one special Christmas album. The thick dust on the cover of the turntable reminded him how long it had been since it had last been used. As he wiped it off he thought for a moment about the evolution of time. Would his grandchildren know how to use this contraption? Would they feel about the old record player as he did about the new mp3 ones? He chuckled at the bewilderment such a conversation would spark.
The girls were due any minute. Both coming homes for Christmas morning; each with her own family in tow. Wasn't it just yesterday he was whisking them off to bed with the caution that old Santa might not make it if they weren't tucked snug in their beds and fast asleep?
He stoked the fire again, making sure it was crackling and popping its own holiday rhythm. He stopped in the kitchen to make sure things were just right - the coffee was percolating and the tea steeping.
The dog announced their arrival and the door was opened before anyone could reach for the bell. Hugs and kisses, smiles, laughter and love filled the room. Presents were opened and breakfast was enjoyed. He caught the girls exchanging curious glances at each other and decided to play along. It was obvious they were silently daring each other to ask first.
"Daddy?" they queried in unison.
Before they could say anymore, Conway Twitty and the Twitty Birds were singing The Twismas Story...
...I still ask to hear it every year. 

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No Film Photo

image by Chasity...thank you so much for sharing it in the i-studio flickr pool.

You can view Chasity's photos on her blog, The Road Less Traveled

or visit her stream for further inspiration

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The words are quiet. They don't whisper. They don't move. They don't give themselves away. They don't dance in the wind like laundry on the line.


In this silence, I reminisce on the times of wordy abundance. I wait for my creative epiphany to reveal itself. I search within. I dig for the stories that play on my eyelids as I flutter off to sleep. I wonder who, this time, will break my silence.

I pray and know the words will someday come again.


What do you do to rekindle the memories that refuse to write themselves?
How do you preserve yesterday for tomorrow?

No Film Photo

I'm Kristina and am honoured to be contributing to The Inspiration-Studio. I'm a no film photographer which means I take pictures with my mind and share them with you through my words. Sometimes my pieces are entirely personal and raw and real. Sometimes they are entirely fictitious. Most times, they are a blend of both. I sift through the flickr pool Kim created and pick an image from there and then either write about it or match it up to a piece I write separately. Do make sure you share in the pool, your image just might light a no film photo flame for me and be featured right here.


 image by Pam Martin Jammies were on, our bedtime story was read and hugs and kisses were exchanged. Her head lay softly upon her tiny pillow. Just as we turned out the light, she sat straight up. Her brown eyes open wide and fully awake illuminated by the soft angel plugged in the corner.
‘Mommy,’ the call stops me every time.
‘Sweet darling?’ I acknowledged.
She crossed her little legs and sat on her toddler bed. I sat on the plush carpet floor anticipating a conversation.
‘Mommy, one day I...,” her story began. The rest of the words were garbled but she made sure to engage me with a nodding head and animated hands. Every few words she would ask, ‘yeah?’ (though it sounded more like yaaaaa) and wait for my smile.
I sat astounded. This precious little soul, this person I helped create, grown in my womb, birthed from my heart, captivates all of me. She is my mirror. She makes me aware of the simplest treasures and the grandest thoughts.
Our conversation, or rather her speech to me, ended just as it started – with me stopped in my tracks. She declared, ‘good night,’ and lay back down upon her pillow. As her eyes fluttered to sleep she whispered, ‘love you.’
I gently closed the door and tiptoed my way from yesterday to tomorrow.

by Kristina Wood