This haunting picture comes from Winter Abbott, and once I'd seen it, it followed me in the dark. As Winter pointed out to me, everything about it seems ambiguous, including the season, though it's called Summer. I've written something titled "Landscape" and, frankly, I've no clear idea where the story in here came from. It just grabbed the steering wheel and kept driving. Here's the excerpt. You'll find the rest here.

Low blue hills and a flickering sky. Nothing

has moved in the field

for a long time now. That fingernail shape

could be a house busy with laughter,

where lunch gets made

and shared hungrily, but

at this distance, it’s easier to believe

in pulled hair, bitter silences.

What baffled me about the painting was the color. Objectively speaking, those colors are cheerful--pale yellow, pink, bright blue. And yet the painting's a moody, ghostly piece, partly because of the complete absence of anything human. And then there was weird fence/non-fence. I just had to write about it. 

I'm still cadging for scraps here. Got a prompt? Send it here.