Call to peace

Come to me sweet Luna,

Carry my thoughts away into your peaceful light embrace,

Whisper to me of better days,

Days beneath the glow of a Spring sun that heals

With the sweetest kiss

Of a universe.

Come to me my moon,

Rest yourself above the sea

Reflect your magnificence upon my face

As I bask in the moment of calm

And your wind will wash me in its cleansing spirit,

A light that beckons to follow,

And a wave to wash at high tide

As you pull me into a better day,

I will walk in your shadow leaving silent indents on the sand

If only to remind you,

That I am saved by the sweet breath of midnight.

I sing praise to the life of the world

As it turns silently while we sleep and wake

I am refreshed in the scent of a solitary gardenia bloom as I pass,

Blessed truly, indeed.


Moving water

This place lies so far across my country from where I am now. A magical place etched by  time and the passing of water that moves endlessly down. Winding through stone, collecting debris with each passing storm, yet ever moving. Steps take us along, beginning at the top and moving down or the choice of starting low and rising, always the choice. We only move as fast as the slowest soul that creeps along in this magical place, crowds that stop to capture moments on their camera, or the photographer that sets up a workshop it seems to grab just that right image.

We are patient here. We wait and move one step at a time, so many of them, some slippery with the damp splashes of water, some dry and crumbling with the ghosts of a thousand steps before. We stare down and listen to the rhythm of the rushing water as it echoes all around us and we stare up at the narrow slice above where we can see the blue of the sky watching us down below.

This place draws in the people young and old and as you watch the water rush by behind a waterfalls, you feel as if you are a part of this world, this place. Every step you climb you feel your breath coming faster, so many steps, and the muscles of the legs ache when you think you can go no farther, around the bend more steps descend and you smile as a new view lights your mind and as the sun slowly begins to go down you know the time is now to finish the final steps, to let the moving water rest undisturbed from view and to let the night creatures take over and walk your steps unencumbered.

Image taken at Watkins Glen, out in the finger lakes of New York a few years back. A wonderful wine country, scenery to die for and a place of moving water that bids you to stop and stay a while.

Wordless Wednesday



I loved this piece at the Ringling Museum in Sarasota. It spoke to me, hope you enjoy and sorry for the date marks (which are wrong, taken a few weeks ago) on the images, If I cropped it out, something would be lost in the wordless translation. Enjoy.


For want of rain

Empty benches sit on a lonely beach. A man in a yoga pose reaches for the sky as if praising the moment as the clouds slowly roll in. A circle of white stones in the sand lies close to his feet and I wonder if he is the one who created the round form, like a bull’s eye, strike here it seems to say, forlorn and empty and waiting for the rain.


It has been weeks since a drop has fallen and I go there on a whim to be a part of it, this approaching storm and the water lies calm this morning, not yet nine and only a few other souls stand watch with umbrellas in hand, waiting too. The birds fly overhead as birds will do on ocean winds and I try to capture them but when I see the after effect, they seem like words falling aimlessly off of the page.


For want of rain we venture here, as the skies darken and I feel my mood suddenly lighten as the skies grow thick like molasses and there is a light cool breeze that cuts through the humidity. The traffic these days has become easier as the snow birds have flown back up North once more. I fly no more. I am grounded here in my ocean breeze and this is home now, and instead, leaving only my thoughts to soar on the wind like a gull so high above and I can close my eyes and just imagine what it is that they see as they look down at these empty benches where a short time before on sunny days, there was no place to land, and I stand here on this sandy dock with my camera capturing things that strike me as necessary. This is my life, here where fair breezes blow and birds fly into skies till no longer seen and castles wait to be built in this home by the sea. Welcome friends to my world.

100_1575.jpgAll images taken by me this morning on Venice Beach Florida.


Into the sunset

The Bible camp lay down a long dirt road that left our car brown by the time we arrived. We had packed for the week and waited in line, luggage in tow for our cabinet assignments. The scent of the horses was down wind from where we stood but we could hear them neighing and it only fed the excitement. One week of being away from home, pretending to be cowgirls for a week and meeting new friends. This was our rite of passage every year for as long as I could remember.

Our pocket-money shoved deep in our jeans, we had to make it last and the “general store” was always an exciting place where we were free to buy candy, trinkets and anything we could afford basically without having to as permission from an adult. The line inched up and a tag was handed to me and with the point of a finger heading up the hill, I kissed the parents goodbye and headed on my way. The girls had to walk on the left side of the street where their bunks were and the boys on the right. There was known an invisible line in the middle we were forbidden to cross, along with no t-shirts that had any alcohol, tobacco, or rock music portrayed upon them. No fears I thought with my hand-made Campbell soup kids T-shirt and the other items my mother had made folded neatly within.

I stowed my things in the cabin on the bed assigned to me, shoved my Hershey bars under my pillow so that no one took them and proceeded to meet my cabin mates. There were three girls and they all seemed to be best friends from home. They had expensive clothes and pretty hair and fingernail polish and they looked at me as if I had just arrived off of the local space ship from Mars. I knew then and there it was going to be a long week.

The first day there was no horseback riding, my only purpose for going there every year but there was a dance to be held down at the Saloon (Cafeteria) so I changed into a clean shirt and closed the door behind me, my roommates having left a few minutes prior, not inviting me to join them, and I sauntered my way down to where the music was playing.

I lasted there for about an hour and grew bored and restless, I didn’t feel like I fit in, couldn’t find anyone to talk to so I went back to the cabin. I walked between my cabin and the next and found a large field behind it bathed in a light that was set to illuminate the back areas of each cabin. I grabbed a stick and went walking in the weeds. I named the stick Tawny and in my mind, we rode the meadows beneath the stars. I talked to this steed as if he were real, and we galloped (I skipped) and the scent of the weeds stirred beneath my feet and the night felt alive. I believed I was riding a real horse and the joy it gave me was something I have never forgotten. When you are lonely and only have an imagination to keep you company, sometimes amazing things can happen.

A voice dragged me out of my reverie and I looked up to see a stern man in a cowboy hat asking me what in the blazes I was doing out there? I think I laughed a little because I knew he wouldn’t believe my tale of riding the mountains and meadows. I set the stick down and walked over to him with my head down ashamed. He asked again what I had been doing and I began to cry as I told him my tale of my moonlit ride aboard Tawny. He took off his hat and put it on me, told me I was truly a cowgirl and that he thinks that is the best way to live, riding into the sunset and believing in your dreams. He walked me back to my cabin and turned me over to the counselor who had been looking for me and asked me to bring his hat tomorrow when it was time to “ride the range”. I went to bed feeling so special.

The next morning we lined up after breakfast for our morning ride and there he stood holding a big Palomino and he motioned for me to come over. The horse was huge and I must have looked afraid but he said not to worry, it was his own horse and he wanted me to feel like a real cowgirl. I handed him back his hat and he told me to keep it for the ride, he’d retrieve it later. He boosted me up on the horse (Custard) was his name-the horse, not the man, and then he smiled and told me that Custard would take fine care of me and to not get any ideas about making a run for the meadows and the mountains and with a wink he was gone. Everyone stared at me with their mouths open as they sat astride their small brown horses and I was led to the front of the line behind the man, he turned around and said it was best that way because the horse knew him and would follow. I blushed and stroked the cream-colored fur and leaned down and wrapped my arms around the big horses neck. “Into the sunset we go my fine steed” I said as I gave him a little heel kick, and we moved forward like a dream alive.

I had a picture once of me on Custard, not sure if I still have it or not but if I do manage to unearth it, I will add this into the story. Sometimes when we feel isolated, sometimes the best friend is a make-believe horse carrying you away. Written especially for my friend John who has gotten me into a story telling phase. I know it’s long but I hope you enjoy.


We are water

We ripple under a noon-time sun, a beaten up tired dock upon the water, green-blue tint at the edge of the sea, reflections of our selves watching, waiting for sight of dolphins.

Sand-castle dreams of life as we’ve become and we gaze beyond the horizon where the future lies, past the view of this moment, and we walk to the edge and look down within to see the silver-flecked fish move in time with the waves that move slowly by.

Dark forms meander to nowhere and head to somewhere out of view, a manatee alone lumbering below the surface, a delight for a moment and then it’s gone, slipped away in the endless blue. Nameless faces walk past, speaking in tongue to children in tow and a fisherman casts his net upon the slick silver spears that dart away and he comes up empty-handed time and time again. Do they toy with him? I quietly wonder with a smile, no dinner or bait today as the fish got away.

We are calm here, along the water’s edge where no words need to be spoken and time moves slowly as the sun bakes the sand like a cake from scratch, radiating warmth that feels good on feet that walk gently into the barely there waves and life here moves on and the people come and go, in search of what? I don’t really know. Perhaps a cool swim with the life within, or perhaps to find a lost thought or a memory that has escaped for a while?


The old man sits on a tired bench with his plastic cup of beer and just watches the distance, and I want to ask him what it is he seeks, but I just walk away, letting him be. Who am I to intrude as I walk along myself, down the dock surrounded by the beauty of the water.

Somewhere in my mind I have become the mermaid beached, waiting for the moment when the dolphins return and the sun sets bringing a cooling breeze, I wait.


This is a picture (not mine) of the pier we walked on today, my first sight of a manatee and at the end of the pier, men fished while a heron waited for a snack and a few lonely people sat and drank a beer watching the horizon. Beautiful place. Anna Marie Island was the destination for my mystery trip today. What a beauty, truly.



The life

There was a moment in life, a yesterday unlike any other and I see the numbers and do some addition, realizing that “that was then and this is now” and that’s okay, somedays it still gets so hard to wrap the mind around it all.

Things change daily and I think the biggest block we trip over, stubbing our toe almost daily is the fact that we can’t go back to “there” because we’re different now than we were then.

I remember the Scrabble games, how you drove me crazy just trying to keep my mind in shape on days when I felt it melting in a puddle of chemo chemicals and I knew you’d let me win to make me feel good, and it did feel good for awhile, but that was then and now we play for real and I never did like competition and I turn and walk away, don’t want to play no more because now I have my faculties and I choose to let it go, it is just a game of wooden tiles….if you knew how I longed to see you use them as smoking wood you would laugh out loud. Things are fine and as I dance like a fool for a smile from you we can just be, us, here and now enjoying each moment that comes along because baby, that’s life and as I sit here listening to the cicadas and you talk to those from yesterday that makes your heart soar, I know you’re happy, right here, right now.

This is the life, the path we’ve chosen and it’s good. It’s so very good and I don’t need a Scrabble game, stupid game I say with a smile as we sit together every night feeling the balmy breeze blow and we have love, and we have health, yeah, we have everything and I couldn’t ask for more, wouldn’t want to really, for this is our life….and it’s enough in its simple perfection. Double word score baby. I think I know now why I grew to hate that game so much. It was a reminder of when I wasn’t in control, when my head ached to remember and I couldn’t, of when I wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring. I’m okay with that, but still I wonder, what to do with the Q?


Dreams of a child

My sand castles were nothing,

Scooped up mixture of mud and sand

In a square box, 

A memory of a tired land.

No dreams of far off oceans

Nor a prince to rescue me,

I had no dreams yet, They had not been born

Yet my sand castles were something

I just didn’t know it at the time,

They were a part

Of who I’d become.


Awakened Light

This place out West, I had been here before many years before, back when I saw darkness. It is one of the places where I first found light. Sun parched lands of history below my feet as I trudged across smatterings of wildflowers and tumbleweeds, the rolling balls of dried string-like things that seemed like what I carried within. Aimlessly rolling with the wind in search of something, perhaps a place to stop for a while, to rest before rolling away again. Under a scorching sun that seemed to serve to only take my very breath away, I moved on black tar roads that rose in waves before me, like a non-existent oasis that promises cool respite yet upon reaching it, leaves the soul in a quiet sadness that it was never really there, never real in fact.

How many demons did we fight on that journey. Stone cold tired with no smokes, too much chance for fire and besides, no one knew the secret, got to keep the secret in the dark where it belonged. But with keeping secrets it changes who we are. We didn’t own it, instead we ended tired each day, mired in misery at the isolation it made us feel. We woke before dawn to move on again, tumbleweeds rolling towards a new destination.

It was so beautiful though, those days of journeying to places I had never seen. I had touched the face of Crazy Horse, standing high on his arm, a mountain carved with such care. We walked The Badlands in the rain, capturing the colors as the water absorbed to form clay that stuck to my feet like cement, as I tried so hard to scrape off the land that had become a part of me, my soul tried to create a new image of what should be. But you can create all you desire, it doesn’t make it true. Like putting lip color on a pig, I laughed when I heard that term and still use it for it just shows you can try to hide something, make it pretty but it doesn’t change a thing. I couldn’t change the soul, couldn’t reign in the need to stand proud and be myself. I needed to own the negative along with the positive, to see and be the light and once that could occur, like an unexpected gift or image taken, left me to wonder why the darkness had ever been allowed to be there at all. Turn the switch on and be. I know this now.

I think my favorite image was traveling a never-ending road as the sun came up, how I tried to capture it, to keep it forever. I had forgotten that once having seen it, I was forever holding that in my memory. Not a camera card to be lost, just a moment in time as the cool morning wind found my face and the smile I held, etched forever, in the birth of that first ray of light. It was a trip that made me strong. It allowed me to know that no matter what happened, I could do something so amazing and make it through. I learned how to be me.



If anyone can respond to how exactly ping backs work, John and myself would appreciate it…


So,have I any scars? So the man asked. It depends. I may have an emotional scar or two. I may well develop a few more. For example; this is my first time responding to a WordPress prompt. And I don’t know how to do a pingback. Notice that the WordPress spellcheck doesn’t recognise the word WordPress and neither does it recognise pingback. I think I would have less potential scars if WordPress used words that make sense.

So let’s see if I can link this to the prompt. First of all do I link it to the post I got from WP (see how clever I have become) . But the post also appears to have a human involved. This scarless human is called Ben, Someone-or-other. Hang  on, I think I’ve got him hanging on the line on another Tab. If you give us a sec I’ll duck back and…

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