Fresh

 The notebooks set buried beneath piles. The pages are brittle, yellowed and empty. The blog posts are historic. No audience, or ideas have risen. The ink pens are rubber banded and the ink has run dry. This is the silence of a sleeping writer. The deeper the sleep, the harder to rise. 

A muse whispers.....fresh. The word evokes a call to her spirit. Another start. A rising from the depths of dreams and nightmares. 

Wake up writer and share your voice. Come find that slumbering talent. It is time to create, time to speak. Call to your characters, their stories and emotions. Be inspired by your passions. 

Walk to your fresh start....write writer, write. 

Ocean Princess Revisited

I signed up this week for Teachers Write. I found it last minute as it was just beginning. I didn't have time to investigate or wrap my mind around it, but it began and I am jumping in.

Every day there are exercises, something to get us thinking about writing. All of it will help me as a writer, and as a teacher of writing.

This week we did some wondering, some people watching and today, getting close to a character. I know it is time for me to pick a piece to work on. So, I went looking through my previous posts.

I have to figure out who I am as a writer. Where do I want to go with it? If I were to write for children (picture books), I want to write like Patricia Polacco or Eve Bunting. I want deep themes in my writing.

But I do love young adult literature. I love to read it. I wish I taught older students so that I could read more. But then again, if I want to write for that audience, I do need to read more. So, that is where I am going to explore, for now. I'm going to start reading LOTS of young adult lit. I will read it to enjoy it, and read it to learn about writing.

I'm excited to improve my craft, my writing craft and teacher craft.
Here is my piece I want to work on Ocean Princess and Her Sentry
It was a piece I felt completely uncomfortable with. Way out of my comfort zone. But the story intrigues me, I want to try to find it, tell it.

So...my exercise. Some character work:

 I'll focus on Caitlyn. The image I want with her is a smooth rock. It is carried in her pocket, always. It sits on her night stand beside her at night. She found it on a camping trip with her family. She loved that trip. Tunneling through caves, climbing the hillsides, standing up high on rocks. She loved the earth, the forest, the hills. She missed that life here near the beach. She did not feel connected to the ocean scent, the sand that she could never seem to be rid of, the sound of the waves, none of it connected to her. So she hung onto that rock, her only connection to days she longed for.

I feel I can't tell their stories until I know them. I will continue to find Caitlyn, this exercise certainly helped. When I sat down to write this evening, I didn't know what the image would be, or the meaning it would hold. I just pulled in a little closer to my character. I love it!

A Seeking Wanderer

Linking up once again with Write on Edge. We were given a quote:

Still round the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate.

~J. R. R. Tolkien

and a photo :

Along with a few rules to follow. Which led me to write:

A Seeking Wanderer


The emptiness had all but devoured me. I went out, wandering. The lights and the sounds of the city streets trapped me. I felt abandoned, but from what? Friends had called it depression, others just a temporary crisis. My wandering led me to a building. The sign identified it as a church. I didn't pay attention to its name or religion. I sat. A song from inside brought me back to my childhood and family. Both were many miles gone now. Almost in habit, my head  bowed and words were whispered. The words simple, not full of emotion, not desperate. Just simple, "Where do I go? How do I change?"

In the morning, I awoke. I went through my routine and headed to the office. My mind shifted into gear and went through its pattern of the every day. The thoughts that sent me wandering were buried as usual to allow me to walk through the day. I nodded and mumbled as I walked by others. I would carry on...or so I thought.

 An email interrupted routine. The subject line...Your Answer to Destination and Change. My brain quickly shifted to the steps and the previous night. I opened it.

At the end of Highway 301 in the town of Brecksville you will find a country road. Walk it.

"Still round the corner there may wait; a new road or a secret gate."

It is where you should go and how you will change.

No signature. No further direction. But I knew...I needed to go. I shut down my computer and walked down the halls and into the street. I went home and took off my suit. I put on jeans and a t-shirt. I went to my closet and found a backpack from my college hiking days and packed it with some necessities. I left...and I headed to the end of Highway 301 in the town of Breckville.

The emptiness of the road was welcome compared to the noise of life I was walking from. The breeze carried over the golden growth beside me, energized me. It had a quiet push forward. It encouraged me on toward the road that stretched beyond imagination and dreams. That was my goal...to go beyond my imagination and dreams. To find purpose and meaning.

What was that I felt spread across my face...a smile? Foreign and strange it sat there, bewildering my heart. Anger and resentment had built walls, fear and confusion hid hope.

But now the echo of words I once read called me onward down a road to…to where?

The road or that gate somehow gave reason to move, gave motivation to plan, and the mystery of it allowed me to cast doubt aside and seeking and searching down a road I never knew, to a place still unknown.

As the sun was starting to set and chill came from the breeze I found a gate...hidden by overgrowth and sort of secret. I opened it and found a new road...

 

City Prisoners

I am linking up with Write at the Merge this week for some flash fiction, word limit 108. They gave me the first 8.
Always a challenge, every word becomes so important.

This is what I came up with....(106 words)


The bells of St. Brigit's are calling tonight.
 
The sounds of the bells break the silence that has surrounded the city. The waves break forth from the steeple, through the gates and rushes over the leaves.

But they are holding back. Crouched and hidden, isolated in corners of the alleys, under boxes and crates. They are clutching the fear that imprisoned them here. The events they witnessed left no trust.

A single candle pierces the darkness.

Finally, one staggers forward. Bare dirty feet and tattered clothes.

At the doorway...arms pull her into an embrace.

Candle goes out, bells go silent.

St. Brigit called only one tonight.



I always welcome feedback to help me grow as a writer.

Empty Spaces

I am linking up with Write on Edge again this week. I love the practice and getting to writing again. I am pushing the deadline and this piece is in need of lots of work....(but here goes)


I went with the photo prompt:

The last of the boxes were finally unpacked. It had taken just a few days..she came with so little. Boxes anyway. But the luggage she carried in her heart would take much longer to unpack.

Carri slumped into the couch. Her eyes searched the room...empty spaces everywhere.
She closed her eyes and lifted her feet. She allowed her ears to tune into the stories beyond her empty walls and down the halls. She listened to the laughter of children. The clanging of pots and pans. The gruff voice and muffled responses. She imagined the walls in their spaces. Photos and plaques. Shelves of collections and trophies. Histories. She yearned for connection. She desired a history she'd want to remember.

From the street below she heard the sound of a lone trumpet. Intrigued she went to the window. Below she saw him. A little disheveled, eyes without life, but from those notes came an emotion she couldn't describe. As he played, the passerbys seemed not to even notice. Carri couldn't understand how they could ignore him...she felt mesmerized and drawn in. It was as if those notes carried hope, and invitation of a future. It wasn't a song she knew or heard before. Yet she felt as if it was for her. As the rhythm changed her body moved into motion. She felt a desire to run and sit with him. She was locked in position by fear, afraid if she left the window he'd disappear. So she stood and stayed with him, there at the window until the dusk rolled in and the stars rolled out. He put his trumpet into its case and walked away into the darkness.

That night she dreamed of the music and of his face. In her dreams, his face was softer and brighter. She could see his eyes more clearly, and they held hope. The music had words...whispered in a smokey tune.  When she awoke she could no longer capture the images or remember the words. But she felt her heart yearn for it. It haunted her daylight hours. She went out and walked the streets, searching faces and hoping to find him in the masses. She listened for the music amidst the traffic and rushing crowds.

Back in her empty space she found herself humming the songs she heard, closed her eyes and captured his face again...and then the trumpet came. She didn't even walk to the window, she opened the door and rushed through the hallways and down the stairs. As she opened the door it was if the city stood still and he was there alone. She slowed her step and walked towards him.

He continued to play, his back to her. She felt as if each note was pulling her closer.

On his late note he turned....and greeted her with a smile. "I've been waiting for you."

As she looked into those eyes, and saw the light...she knew he had been. Destiny had finally found her, connected her.

He lifted the trumpet to his lips...and she stood beside him, singing the words to a song she had never known.

Fight

Night was settling in. Echoes of the evening songs began to bounce from the trees to the floor of the forest. But she sat.

Silent. Still.

She knew the flashlights would come shortly. The calls would fill the empty spaces. But she would tuck in. Stay hidden from the reality that waited beyond these branches and leaves.

She needed to hide.  She needed to lose herself and believe she hadn’t heard those words today.  She wanted to either leap into the past or fast forward to a distant future. She didn’t want the journey these circumstances placed on her today. Instead, she ran. She ran with fury. She ran as far and deep as she could move.

But the silence was only there on the outside. Inside she screamed. Inside the words shouted and condemned her. 

Cancer. Tumor. Chemo. Radiation.  They repeated and bounced from her heart, to her stomach and to her head swarming like bees.

In the dark she settled to her knees. She collapsed and lifted the dirt into her hands. A shift took place in her veins, like the path that meandered in front of her. She clutched the soil and dropped lower to the ground. The tears began to quench the soil below her. Her scream moved from within her and out to the air. The sobs were muffled with words that tried to spill out. She inhaled deeply, and exhaled with grief. Finally she sprawled to the ground, exhausted from the race away from life and the emotion that pulled her down.

On her back, she stared into the darkness. The questions seem to be etched there into the sky. How can she fight this? Where would her strength come from?  But over, and over…why? Why?

She searched the stars for answers. She listened to the wind and the voices of night to see if they would whisper the answers that she needed to hear.

But the only sound breaking the silence was her heartbeat. The rhythm of it calmed her. A peace seemed to reach from every direction and wrap itself around her. The pounding of her heart carried with it a fight, a resolve. She wouldn’t surrender, she would meet this battle with a vengeance. She would grasp her fingers around faith.

As if on cue came the voices and lights, revealing the soldiers of love that would surround her and march beside in her in this battle. Their arms carried her and she let go and allowed it.

From behind her she heard a chorus from the sounds of night, “Fight, fight, fight.”

 

I am linking up with Write on Edge this week. My prompt is the photo above.  It has been a while and I am feeling quite rusty! I do love feedback though.

POW!

That moment in time. It rushes over you, sets you spinning, makes you close your eyes and hold your breath. For a time, you see only darkness and hear only questions.

One of those moments came to us this week. My son texted me with... call me asap. Suddenly, the biopsy that occurred the week before jumped to my heart. The news....my 30 year old daughter in law, mother of a 6, 4, and 1 year old and 18 weeks pregnant with her 4th was diagnosed with breast cancer. Take any of those statements out into isolation and it is scary....put them all together and the news is unbelievable. Crazy. Insane. Horrific.

Suddenly the miles between us feel more like universes. So, what to do you? How do you handle it?

Me? I call out. I pull to my faith and to God. I drop to my knees and I ask others to join me. I go to His word. I surrender to His will and trust that He prepared us. He knew it was coming.

And that's when you feel it. This calm, and peace. Strength. Love. A little light begins to break the darkness. The questions still there, but a feeling of I'll take today. I will walk through today, then tomorrow, then tomorrow, and so on. I'll trust.

I watched my daughter in law exhale and saw her gather her strength. She pulled from her wisdom and began to seek, plan and walk through it. She pulled out her humor, her perseverance and she faced the journey. She created a page on facebook. If you want to join in on the journey she called it "A lump and a bump". I tried to link it but it isn't working. God doesn't show up mild and meek. He shows up BIG and mighty. I see that in the number of supporters, the "Jesus' in disguise", the words they use. I see that in the change in our resolve. I see that in the strangers who reach out to us. For me, there is no doubt. This journey will be long, hard, and it will have moments just like when it began. Moments that leave us spinning....but He will keep showing up. (Not that He will ever leave, we just seem to lose sight of Him when we place our eyes on the situation) He will calm the storms. He will take our hands. We shall see miracles! The morning after the news. I opened my devotional. The scripture was Jeremiah 29:11-13

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me."

Could the promise be any better?

Heart of Stone

 She couldn't be stilled. Her heart raced. Her mind whirled between crazy and sane. And her feet...step after step tracing the stones of heart beneath her feet. Her movement changed with her thoughts. Tip Toe. Spin. Skip. Mimicking Groucho Marx. As she moved, she counted the stones. And they were as numerous as the answers to the question that faced her.

Sara stopped and lay across the heart. Her eyes looking toward the heavens. She had called out so many times for the answers....and none came floating back.
With her eyes closed and the beat of her heart slowing she heard footsteps approaching.

Sara knew the one who wore the shoes. The pattern and rhythm completely familiar. Her eyes still closed a smile crawled up on her lips.
"Child...what are you doing lying there on that cold stone?"

Her eyes opened to the warmth of those milky brown eyes looking down on her. She saw such wisdom there. Faith oozed from her smile. A peace seem to surround her.
She reached for the hand to pull her up and into a hug.

As they came eye to eye she pleaded for that wisdom to jump from her heart into her own mind,"What am I going to do?"
"You're not going to find your answers on your feet. I done told ya' that! You need to get down on your knees!"
"Oh Cami, I know you don't like the way I use him like my genie. But...."

Sara couldn't even finish the sentence. She knew how it would hurt her. She really had no need to call out to the heavens, or get down on her knees....he couldn't and wouldn't understand the questions of that plagued her mind.

She looked back into that look of Cami's eyes and wished she could climb inside and get what her thoughts held. Wondering what she had learned as she had gained all those wrinkles that encircled her eyes.

Cami said no more, just touched her hand. It was the way she always handled it. She'd give a little wisdom, and a lot of love. But she never pushed.

Later that evening Sara saw Cami on the porch. The old and worn bible sat on the rocking chair. Cami was down on her knees. Somehow Sara knew those prayers she was saying were all for her.

Not long after a peace settled down in Sara's mind. The answer came clear.....and she thought, I knew it would come to me.

It has been a really long time since I posted to this group
n fact, it has been a really long time since I wrote. It felt good to get some words out and create a little. The prompts have changed a little since I have been here last. This week was a photo and a quote from Groucho Marx. I started there...and loosely used it. The exercise felt good!

Where is God?

Tragedy hits us again...and the questions fly...where is God in this? How can He allow this?

 I sit back and wonder to myself...yes, where is He? Where have we put Him? Up on a shelf? Shifted to the backs of our minds? Kept private only allowed in our quiet moments because we don't want to be embarrassed? Tucked away and only called in our times of need? Where exactly have we put Him? Is He hidden as a mighty power or found in the wind? Because I certainly do not see Him in our words, actions and daily walks. I do not see Him in our everyday lives. Sometimes I do not even see Him among those who call themselves Christians. We pull Him out when it is convenient, speak of Him when it is comfortable.

In fact, even today I watched the posts about this tragedy. It was spoken about all day, all over the media. People using it to debate whether we should have gun control or even question the parents who brought their children to a midnight movie. Are we a Christian nation? What would it look like in the media today if we were? And I wondered, what have we come down to? What has happened to us here in America?

As the days grow darker and evil becomes more a part of our lives, I wonder why we do see less and less of God in our lives. Is one the cause of the other? And shouldn't this evil and darkness have us on our knees and begging for His presence and direction?

Look at history, what has happened when nations turn from the Lord?

The further we walk away, the less present He will be. Where are we headed?  Where is this trust in ourselves taking us?


Today didn't get me thinking about this. Everyday has me thinking about this. We have shifted from a belief in a Holy Father and made Him into something we can be casual about, choose to handle it however we'd like, in whatever way we want. We are self-indulged. We make everything to be comfortable for ourselves. We look at others and put on a judgemental attitude, and real love is becoming scarce. You know, the kind of love that is merciful and full of grace.

We have forgotten we can't point fingers at political leaders. We forget they are only there because God allowed it and appointed it. Are we praying for them? Are we praying for direction as we decide to vote? Or are we looking out for ourselves?

Where is God?

He is there, He is waiting. Waiting for our return. Waiting for us to realize..this life, can not be done on our own.  We need to repent and let go and surrender. Allow Him to permeate our lives. We should see prayer on our streets and in our homes. We should be teaching our children.  Our facebook statuses and blogs should be full of Him.

My prayer for you tonight is your heart will be touched, and the Holy Spirit is speaking to you. Help me in praying for our nation, help me to love as God loved. Let's bring God back into the lives of Americans and make Him the Lord of our lives and the Lord of our nation.

Wishes and Prayers

Raindrops fell in a simple quiet beat. The grayness hung heavy in the clouds, but the distant view hinted at hope. Other than the drops of rain and screaming thoughts, silence surrounded her. It was the silence that reminded her. Silence magnified the void.

She shuffled through photos. Browsed signatures on cards. Memories only bounced against the empty walls and spaces of her heart.

The ring of the phone jolted the silence...ignore was her reaction. She needed the silence. She needed the waves to rush over her, that morning she needed the emptiness.

The days had been busy and full. There hadn't been time to feel it, really feel it. She had stood steady for others and moved with automaticity through the plans.She knew she needed to walk this path to get through. There was no escaping it, the storm had to come.

So she climbed beneath the pain and allowed it to seep in. It moved through her every being. It unleashed and swarmed like bees. Her mind and heart were full and dark. All hope and joy had closed their doors. Sorrow took residence. She surrendered to it and allowed herself to feel it. She breathed it through her nose and out her mouth. It climbed aboard her heartbeat and swam through her veins.

But it was from within this darkness she could see a small speck of light. Darkness magnified the light. A song drifted through her senses. The words penetrated the despair and pierced at the darkness. It called to her in a whisper. The words were of healing and salvation.

Her eyes darted back to the window. The hope that was in the distance now danced in streams at the window. She closed her eyes and wished....and her wishes became prayers.

Her wishes sat upon the puddles, and would rise with the sun. Some would fall back to her, and others would sustain her. Healing and hope would stand side by side with sorrow, balancing her and keeping her steady.

Her wishes whispered to her....this too shall pass....this storm will end.

Linking up with the Lightning and the Lightning Bug today....#59 Wishing!

Common Ground

They all sat in their own space, elbow to elbow, in silence and anticipation. They had studied long and hard to prepare for a day such as today. But within their separate unseen walls they were isolated by language and culture barriers. Unable to communicate their mix of fear and excitement, they kept their eyes averted, their heads down, each praying to their own, each in a language native to them.

At lunch time there was some movement. Each unpacked their brown bags or vinyl packs. Scents of seasons and liquids penetrated the dull room as they ate in their continued silence. The chewing and slurring and grumbling stomachs seemed louder in the silence now.

As they bags were tossed, they lay their heads in many directions, catching some rest before the work would begin. The breathing was rhythmic and one would think this group was in sync. But their lives were each disconnected from the other, all drawn here for a different reason and or purpose. The dreams they dreamed were their own.

Then the sounds came from above. The roars of the helicopter woke them each. And with precise movement they moved, patterns and routine were evident. The noise became louder as it came closer.

As they hit the ground running, common ground was quickly discovered among this group. A single purpose now…to save lives. The injured were moved out quickly, stretchers on the ground. Each individual now became part of a team, each doing their specific role, creating a function of saving lives.

Communication suddenly opened, not in words, but through eyes and hands. Directions were given, details to problems…with points, grunts, and urgency in their pupils. This went on for hours…and then days. Triumphs were shared with hands held high, smiles across faces; discouraged hugs and hands on shoulders when the goals were not reached.

The days passed, and this journey was over. None shared a name, an address or a phone number. But the memories of this day, the faces and the people were etched in each one’s mind. They were no longer connected with the vision of these days. They walked away from this common ground…back into a world of their own.

The prompt that inspired this piece:
At what point does a person stop being a stranger to you? How do you determine the difference between a new friend and an old enemy? Who, exactly, owns the tree that seems to be growing on the property line between you and your neighbor?

This week's theme is "Common Ground." I'm sure there are all kinds of different ways to interpert that theme, so I'm excited to see what you all come up with.

Linking up with the Lighting Bug..join us, it's fun!

Cold

Unlike many of you... cold is a welcomed temperature in my world. I live in Florida and I find myself inside a house, air condition on, humidity stealing my breath, can't-get-comfortable,way of  life most of the year.

So...those morning when I wake up a few times a year and walk outside and I can see my breath, a smile crosses over my lips. I breathe it in and feel it refresh me. Down through my veins and into my soul.

When the fields are covered in frost, it is my remembrance of snow. The blanket of white with the light dancing on the crystals.

The rare occasions when I can slip into a comfy sweathshirt and curl up under a blanket when reading a book, a cat curled in beside me. Cozy and comfort of hot tea steaming near by.

Or that inviting scent of smoke in the air from someone's fireplace, their only heat since there is little need. Imagining the scene of stoking the fire, pulled up close, heavy socks on dangling as close as you can get. The giggles of children who poke their sticks of marshmallows into the flames.

The climbing into bed at night and goosebumps rise and chills shiver as you touch the cold sheets against you. Those feet move to the warmth of the body beside you making them jump.

Ah yes, cold....a welcomed event in my too warm home. I think it is coming this week too....anticipating and waiting.


Cold! It's probably on your mind anyway, being the middle of winter and all. Why not take a few minutes and write down for us what exactly the word "cold" means to you; is "cold" the month you pull your fashionable sweaters out of the wardrobe, or is "cold" when you decide to stay home from work because you can't find the car under the snow? Maybe you've had a special experience with the "Brr" word you'd like to share. Still, I wouldn't want to encourage your procrastinating too much, so keeping it under 700 words or so is suggested.

2011 A Year in Review

January..an accident

February....a goodbye

March...Georgia visits

April..spring time car shows

May...summer arrives

June...vows renewed

July...family vacations

August....new baby arrives

September...Nebraska visits

October...first birthdays and Halloween costumes

November...family and Thanksgiving for new blessings

December...quiet Christmas

My Quiet Place

This week we asked you to write about your quiet place. Where is it? What does it look like? What happens there? Our word limit was 200. Linking up with RemembeRED ! It has been a while.



My quiet place is hard to find, within this boisterous world.

The clamor and clatter of my surroundings hides it from my sight. It requires a walk beyond the cell phones, computers, iPods, DVRs and DVDs. It demands distance from the talking, singing, laughter and demanding voices.



And then I find it there…



Quiet lies between the words of a prayer and the pages of a book.

Quiet sits in the flipping of pages and the whisperings of my praise.

Quiet speaks in an inaudible voice, which is only heard by the heart.



Quiet smiles and reminds in the album pages of memories.



I come upon quiet when the pen meets the paper, with words that bring a thought to life.



Quiet seeks me in the stillness.

It calms the voices of urgency in my mind.

It hushes the lists of things to do.

It stifles the wondering and the whys.



My quiet place cannot be named. It is a state of mind.

It is amid the heartbeat and the breaths we breathe of life.



Quiet is ever present and it is  I who must meet it there.

Heroes

I am linking up with The Lightning and The Lightning Bug today for my Dare to Share. This week's Dare to Share Link Up theme is heroes. Feel free to share an old post about how someone special touched your life, or you can write an entirely new post dedicated to your hero. Link up your Veteran's Day posts, posts about military, pretty much anything goes as long as it stays within the theme.

I honestly do not know a lot about what my two boys do day to day in their jobs. I assume they can't share or do not want to share with their mom. What I do know a lot about is their sacrifice. Both of these young men are married and have beautiful children. The military life has its benefits for families, we all know that. But it certainly has its difficulties.

I have watched the oldest as he is told where to live, when to come and when to go. I know how his heart broke when his grandmother died.  He was unable to return or say his goodbyes. He was somewhere in a desert, committed to his job.  I see how hard it is on his wife with him gone and the little boys who do not really understand. I watched their eyes light upon his return, and heard them scream and giggle, "my daddy" when they spot him walking up. His latest departure included leaving his newborn little girl. She is having a few problems with gaining weight and he hears this news from across the oceans, unable to help, unable to comfort. A family has to be strong and tough through this. I am proud of he and his wife.

The youngest is just beginning his time in the Navy. He has had his first deployment. For him, it is under the water, in a submarine. He leaves the sunshine and loses touch with his wife and son. The communication is limited when he is away. Emails are monitored, there are no calls or Skype visits. His next departure will leave an expecting wife, and he will hope he will be here when his daughter is born. I know it is hard on a young marriage and both have to sacrifice, be patient and have strong commitment. I am also proud of my youngest son and his wife.

I know they make the choice to enter this service and they do it for different reasons. Yet, it remains a commitment of their life, of sacrifice for their families and giving up many things in which we take for granted. In doing so, my sons and the many others who make this same commitment, help us to enjoy each day our freedoms and liberties. They are making a difference in the lives of many across the globe. We may question their orders, and our politics may not understand. But we need to remember as part of their sacrifice they are not to question. They follow their command. What we need to remember for these men and women is their sacrifice, their courage and their commitment. And because of that,

they are our HEROES.

The In Between of Autumn

Linking up with the The Lightning and The Lightning Bug

The odd little piece of time between Halloween and Thanksgiving doesn't get a lot of attention, you know? In movies, it doesn't even exist. If it's not Thanksgiving Day, it's one of the few days before it. There's so much going on, though! As they say, it's the time of the season when love runs high. I don't know if the Zombies were talking about this time of this season, but it's as good as any and better than most.

Your prompt this week: 700 words or less, give us something seasonally appropriate; that is, after Halloween but before Thanksgiving.


What it use to be and what it has become for me are two different things. It used to be a patchwork of colors in the trees, the chilly days of sweatshirts and jeans. The time to pick up the jack-o-lanterns, but leave the scarecrows behind. The ghords would sit as a centerpiece drying until they rattled. Autumn would fold itself into the gray of winter, an ending of  a year.

But that was when I lived in the north.

But now I live in Florida. So it is the heat that is finally lifted and a window may be opened. It is the joy of walking out of the house and not feel the humidity slap you in the face. There are a few leaves with color, a maple spotted here and there. The Japanese Raintrees with yellow flowers buzzing with bees and then into pinkish-paper  flower. It is the sound of acorns bouncing off the roof and creating a bumpy carpet in the yard. The gray never comes, and it the cold never lasts. It is just a moment within the year now, and one must grasp it and hold it, for it never lasts very long.



It is a turning of time and a lessoning of daylight.

It is a remembrance on Veteran's Day. A day to reflect on bravery and sacrifice.

It is the days of planning and preparing for what lies ahead.

It is a renewing, reenergizing.

It is the walkway into thankfulness and praise, which leads to joy and celebration.

The inbetween of autumn is a season of hope, reflection and beauty.


It is the quiet of the ushering that seems to hold something in its gentle chilly breezes. The darkness that falls earlier provides us with a rest. The natural colors that have us stop, admire and remind us of creation and our Creator. Autumn is a time that ties yesterday to today, and we spin together the past and the future with reflection and with plans.

Then and now, here and there, Autumn remains my favorite.

Fear

This week, we invited you to compose a text–160 characters–that would either elicit or express fear.



I thought his evil ways were gone. Dead. Buried deep.
But there he stood, in my bedroom. Staring cold and silent, gripped tightly in his hand...
a knife.


Okay, read a few of these and realize I did not respond to this prompt as expected...it is suppose to be a text. So please read revised edition:

Help. Call 911. I am in basement, hiding. Creep is in the house, angry and has a gun.

I Remember

I remember...
               
                  your whispery voice and your teddy bear hugs,
                  milk chocolate eyes that danced as you told the stories,
                  your rough whiskers brushed upon my cheeks.
                 
                  the days when it was just me and you,
                  and those days we shared with others.
                 
                  your warm smile and your magic tricks,
                  your secrets and your sadness,
                  your Old Spice cologne
                  and our sandy beach visits,
                 your stern eyes when I knew
                 you meant business.
               

                 your scent of cigarettes and creamy coffee
                 your  baggy jeans and buttoned plaid shirts.
                 your teasing and your playfulness
                 and the awful fight you gave to stay here with us.


But most of all Daddy...

I remember how you loved me.
               
               
             

Darkness

The prompt was "In the Dark of Night" - anything goes, so long as it fits that theme. There's plenty of room to play with that one, I'm sure we're all really excited to see what everyone came up with, be it scary or un-scary. Linking up with The Lightning Bug



Darkness.

Darkness keeps us hidden and walking without sight.  Darkness leaves us spiraling and reeling, searching for direction.  Or it can be full of fear and leave us still and folded into ourselves. 

Darkness is where Sonya lived. She could not see before her, nor remember where she had been. She moved with her hands in front of her, searching and trying to find her way out. However, she repeated patterns with the same results.

We stood just outside, each with a piece of light. Yet, we were unable to reach her, and she stood blinded in the dark.

The two worlds, side by side, hers and ours. Distance so close, but worlds apart.

In her world, they live and revel. Not monsters or ghosts that haunt…but demons that deceive. They whisper to her secrets and simple little lies. They steal from her any measure of faith or hope.  They keep her spinning, and leave her bewildered, confused.

The darkness is crowded. Yet most stand isolated. There is phony laughter. Empty pleasure.

Sonya settled, her feet grounded there. Cheated and betrayed.  

When light slipped through the crevices and cracks, she covered and retreated. 

We called from the borders and moved and circulated. But our words were stifled and silenced  by the wall of darkness.

Until that glorious night, the youngest among us fell to her knees. With her head bowed she spoke. She called for warriors and the strongest guardians. And then she boldly stood. She carried before her a light. Unseen, were those who surrounded her. The army she had called.

She walked from our group, and went into the dark. We gasped and some even began to scream.

The light revealed all that hovered in the darkness.

Despair. Rage. Guilt. Fear. 

Each danced with a partner of sin and shame.

And the young girl found Sonya hovering in a corner. She held her hand and shared her love, and told her only truth. With her light she led her out.

The demons grasped and hissed to her their lies. Yet the guardians and warriors wouldn’t let them near.

Sonya ran from the darkness and into the light, and still resides there now. However, the whispers from the darkness continue to beckon for her return....

Hospital Room

This week Write on Edge asked us to take them somewhere. Where it was was up to me -fiction or creative nonfiction- but they asked us to use our words to paint the setting as vividly as possible. In 200 words.

The children sit in the not-so-comfortable seats, their bright color standing out in the bleached whiteness of the room. 

Eyes stare at the glassy linoleum.

The patterned sounds of the machine,  breathing in and out for their mother.  Beyond the beeps of monitors and the hanging silence, all intermingle in the mood that chills the room.

Voices coming and go.
 Whisper.  

The view from the window reveals a court yard with small people,
moving, standing, and sitting.

Moving toward their mom, they reach over the silver bars, gently pull white sheets around her. Holding her small hand wrapped in black belts, and bandages.

Eyes are mesmerized by the lines and numbers moving on the screen, looking for sense, and finding no hope.

Across from the bed a table covered with wilting flowers and cards of get well wishes.

The teddy bear stares back with the same glazed over eyes.  

A cup sits dangling with a straw untouched. Beside it a pink plastic pitcher parked in position.

The routines of movement and changing shifts are all they can count on. The silence breaks and stories erupt, memories come forward--until the voices rock back to silence and waiting.

Author's Note: Not a pleasant memory, but a picture etched in my mind.