Alexandria paced the floor as the fire crackled in the background. She followed the burgundy circular pattern on the rug.
"Enough!" she cried. She looked at the letter on the dark mahogany table. Flames' reflections danced around the rectangular envelope.
"I'm not burning this one."
She watched the unopened letter as if it were threatening to her presence. It was the third she had received. The first was five days ago after their heated arguments. Her flames of fury from that night were now smoldering. She attempted to write letters in response, yet had torn them in anger. Sadness then led them, joined with his, to be kindling to the pine.
Being drawn to the fire, she moved toward it and sat cross legged on the creamy long-haired sheepskin rug. She pressed her hands into the softness.
A lone tear made a trail along her cheek and down toward her chin.
She felt cold, abandoned and weak.
Weakness was an unfamiliar feeling. This is why she felt the anger. The anger was her internal fire still prodding her to make a decision.
"I should never have to do this," she said to herself. "It doesn't feel fair and has pain written all over it."
She looked behind her. Beside the unopened letter, a red candle burned half way down, showing time's passing. Alexandria sat alone in the house, darkened by all but the fires around her.
She felt darkened within herself.
"I have half a candle left to make my final decision," she said as she turned back to look into the fireplace's flames.
What am I going to do?
Her chest rose as she took a slow deep breath. She exhaled as long as she could and felt some tension release as other choices came to her mind.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Prompt: Something was poised to attack
The lizard was perched on top of the concrete wall. The sun-heated stone didn't seem to bother the small reptile. Its dorsal side had thick skin compared to the white and softer underbelly.
The lizard did two quick push ups and from under its throat extended out semi-circular red flesh that retreated again.
I have wondered if these precise actions were a mating ritual, territorial marking, or just haphazard movements from these small creatures.
I took the moment to look around at nature for a clue. I looked for a temporary mate or rival lizard. I didn't see any. I looked for a bug--a meal, in the vicinity. I didn't see one either. My experience with lizard watching didn't expect this. I've seen lizards get insects. They are poised still until the attack and capture. I've also wondered before about those half-hanging-out-of-the-mouth bugs in lizards' mouths...are they dead or alive?...You know, with the head down the throat, like a shark devouring people in Jaws. (What movies do to the minds!)
A flash of movement breaks my thoughts. It broke the stillness I was resting in. I jumped. The lizard is history. Apparently, a cat behind me was poised to attack.
The lizard did two quick push ups and from under its throat extended out semi-circular red flesh that retreated again.
I have wondered if these precise actions were a mating ritual, territorial marking, or just haphazard movements from these small creatures.
I took the moment to look around at nature for a clue. I looked for a temporary mate or rival lizard. I didn't see any. I looked for a bug--a meal, in the vicinity. I didn't see one either. My experience with lizard watching didn't expect this. I've seen lizards get insects. They are poised still until the attack and capture. I've also wondered before about those half-hanging-out-of-the-mouth bugs in lizards' mouths...are they dead or alive?...You know, with the head down the throat, like a shark devouring people in Jaws. (What movies do to the minds!)
A flash of movement breaks my thoughts. It broke the stillness I was resting in. I jumped. The lizard is history. Apparently, a cat behind me was poised to attack.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Prompt: (From a picture of a bare room, teady bear on the floor, on a rug
On one evening, sometime in 2009, Chuck, our writers' meeting leader, gave us a picture to look at. It was a picture of a bare room, it had a window with no curtains, ... on the floor was an oriental rug and a teddy bear. There were 2 pictures on the wall. Of course, as usual, he said we had 20 minutes.... go! :)
Below is pretty much what came out.... cleaned up about 5% later.
S. Palmerton
It was a night of rage, not long ago. Outside, a violent storm broke the blackness with streaks of lightning. Rolls of thunder shook the home.
Inside, the electrical movement of a mother's protection.....
"He can't find us here," the mother anxiously said to her child, as she tightly embraced the toddler to her chest.
Like a strobe light, flashes of lightning minutes before, through a window without curtains, showed a mother run into the room--bend down--sweep the child into her arms, his teddy bear fell to the oriental rug--her silhouette move away--and then the room bare.
Amid the simultaneous rolls of thunder, the night had heard her call out, the brief cry of the boy, the closing of a makeshift door, and the slamming of a distant door.
Now she was secluded and laid her sleepy son next to her legs.
Soon after, a flash of light streamed into the room--its path focused, searching quickly back and forth. From the door to each wall and covering the floor...over the lone teddy bear, light came and proceeded to move erratically. The rage had entered.
The light dropped to the carrier's feet as the door to the room shut, and a locking of it was heard.
Sounds of rushing footsteps moved into the hallway. The next room examined. Again, a locking of the door and more footsteps heard, farther away.
The woman sat crouched in the hidden closet-size room. Three inner deadbolts double-checked were on her secret door. She heard his footsteps above, climbing the staircase, it seemed two at a time.
Rolling thunder and the pelting of rain continued.
She hoped the storm inside the house would go away. Her heart beat against her ribs. She looked down at her child with blond curls, asleep on his favorite sheet laid over a thick lambskin rug. A dim nightlight glowed onto them. She looked up to the base of the stairs that was now her angled ceiling. To her right, on the secret door, she looked at her taped picture of her and her child. A quote of Einstein's was paper clipped on it.
At the speed of light I'll get away sometime, she thought and began to feel thinning of her chest's fear. She took a sip from a water bottle, screwed the top and set it beside a few more non-perishable foods. For now, this is my safe place, she thought and rested her head on a feather pillow. She'd figure out what to say in the morning.
Below is pretty much what came out.... cleaned up about 5% later.
S. Palmerton
It was a night of rage, not long ago. Outside, a violent storm broke the blackness with streaks of lightning. Rolls of thunder shook the home.
Inside, the electrical movement of a mother's protection.....
"He can't find us here," the mother anxiously said to her child, as she tightly embraced the toddler to her chest.
Like a strobe light, flashes of lightning minutes before, through a window without curtains, showed a mother run into the room--bend down--sweep the child into her arms, his teddy bear fell to the oriental rug--her silhouette move away--and then the room bare.
Amid the simultaneous rolls of thunder, the night had heard her call out, the brief cry of the boy, the closing of a makeshift door, and the slamming of a distant door.
Now she was secluded and laid her sleepy son next to her legs.
Soon after, a flash of light streamed into the room--its path focused, searching quickly back and forth. From the door to each wall and covering the floor...over the lone teddy bear, light came and proceeded to move erratically. The rage had entered.
The light dropped to the carrier's feet as the door to the room shut, and a locking of it was heard.
Sounds of rushing footsteps moved into the hallway. The next room examined. Again, a locking of the door and more footsteps heard, farther away.
The woman sat crouched in the hidden closet-size room. Three inner deadbolts double-checked were on her secret door. She heard his footsteps above, climbing the staircase, it seemed two at a time.
Rolling thunder and the pelting of rain continued.
She hoped the storm inside the house would go away. Her heart beat against her ribs. She looked down at her child with blond curls, asleep on his favorite sheet laid over a thick lambskin rug. A dim nightlight glowed onto them. She looked up to the base of the stairs that was now her angled ceiling. To her right, on the secret door, she looked at her taped picture of her and her child. A quote of Einstein's was paper clipped on it.
At the speed of light I'll get away sometime, she thought and began to feel thinning of her chest's fear. She took a sip from a water bottle, screwed the top and set it beside a few more non-perishable foods. For now, this is my safe place, she thought and rested her head on a feather pillow. She'd figure out what to say in the morning.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Prompt: When papa laughed like that, I was at once reminded of the past.
Aug. 2009
S. Palmerton
Although the years had slowed his gait, his height enveloped him vertically into looking like a lanky giraffe. Bold crimson red walls with cinnamon trim framed his presence tonight. He sat in the firm chocolate leather chair and his grandson plopped himself right onto his lap.
Pulling on his snow white beard, young Johnny pronounced, "Grams, it's your turn to tell a story."
"It is, isn't it." I heard my father state. I looked around. Tonight it was the three of us.I sat at the hearth and stoked the burning logs to bring them closer. After adding a fresh one to burn, and I chose one that would take a long time, I turned to give my father attention. Seeing my son nestled in his lap, stretched my chest forward. I took a deep breath in.
I don't remember him doing that with me, I thought. In my time, for him, work was from dawn to dusk. My scanning mind couldn't locate any memories of sitting in my grandfathers' laps either.
Yet there Johnny sat, perched quiet and still. That's unusual, I thought and inwardly laughed.
Time was lovingly expressing itself within three generations present, and was as tangible to me as the warmth from the fire behind me. I moved to the couch and stretch out, laying a blanket across my legs that were longer than my son.
"Yes, go ahead dad. Tell us all a story," I said as I interlaced my fingers behind my head and crossed my ankles. The couch always fit me perfectly. Tonight I'd try to listen and not fall asleep within a half hour.
I basked in the sight of my father, my papa, holding my son.
The tale he told was spun like threads from a golden spider. It was natural and intricate, a piece of artwork.
When did he learn this? I wondered. I could tell he was improvising anew, as we noticed Johnny beginning to drift off, even though he was trying to stay awake.
By the end, he began to close his imagination's journey with a joker's bells and a steam train riding on rails, to a land of butterflies, lizards and baseball games... all of Johnny's favorites. Father laughed. Oh, did he laugh. He tried to keep from hooting and gently rolled out soft laughter. His open heart washed over us with glory.
Oh..., my mind alerted me. When papa laughed like that, I was at once reminded of the past, back to a time I now remembered... when I was no taller than his legs.
S. Palmerton
Although the years had slowed his gait, his height enveloped him vertically into looking like a lanky giraffe. Bold crimson red walls with cinnamon trim framed his presence tonight. He sat in the firm chocolate leather chair and his grandson plopped himself right onto his lap.
Pulling on his snow white beard, young Johnny pronounced, "Grams, it's your turn to tell a story."
"It is, isn't it." I heard my father state. I looked around. Tonight it was the three of us.I sat at the hearth and stoked the burning logs to bring them closer. After adding a fresh one to burn, and I chose one that would take a long time, I turned to give my father attention. Seeing my son nestled in his lap, stretched my chest forward. I took a deep breath in.
I don't remember him doing that with me, I thought. In my time, for him, work was from dawn to dusk. My scanning mind couldn't locate any memories of sitting in my grandfathers' laps either.
Yet there Johnny sat, perched quiet and still. That's unusual, I thought and inwardly laughed.
Time was lovingly expressing itself within three generations present, and was as tangible to me as the warmth from the fire behind me. I moved to the couch and stretch out, laying a blanket across my legs that were longer than my son.
"Yes, go ahead dad. Tell us all a story," I said as I interlaced my fingers behind my head and crossed my ankles. The couch always fit me perfectly. Tonight I'd try to listen and not fall asleep within a half hour.
I basked in the sight of my father, my papa, holding my son.
The tale he told was spun like threads from a golden spider. It was natural and intricate, a piece of artwork.
When did he learn this? I wondered. I could tell he was improvising anew, as we noticed Johnny beginning to drift off, even though he was trying to stay awake.
By the end, he began to close his imagination's journey with a joker's bells and a steam train riding on rails, to a land of butterflies, lizards and baseball games... all of Johnny's favorites. Father laughed. Oh, did he laugh. He tried to keep from hooting and gently rolled out soft laughter. His open heart washed over us with glory.
Oh..., my mind alerted me. When papa laughed like that, I was at once reminded of the past, back to a time I now remembered... when I was no taller than his legs.
Prompt: It was a time when he had been happy and hadn't known it.
S. Palmerton
2009
Jack stood outside, leaning against the white post railing of the wrap-around porch. He looked over the horizon. Rolling hills stretched out in front of him. And in his view, long, uncut grasses waved as swirls of ocean breezes blew inland from the west.
He breathed in air so clean, he wondered if he were breathing at all.
Jack thought of the moving boxes inside. Some were opened, and all were labeled and in the appropriate rooms. The quietness surrounding him seemed louder than the taxi cabs he used to hear at night. That was of a time when he had been happy and hadn't known it. Now, he realized it.
Jack took another deep swallow of beer and crumpled the can in his hand. He left the porch and walked back into his cabin. A lone open window showed the only movement inside, as navy curtains shifted easily in the breeze like the outside grasses.
I miss the haze of smog as the sun sets in the city, he thought. His mind drifted as he walked over to boxes, opening a couple and walking away, disinterested in taking out any holdings.
Jack walked over to the refrigerator and got another beer.
A rhythm of quick steps caught his attention as he heard paws of his new Labrador slapping the wood floor. Looking down, Jack saw slobber drop next to his boot. His dog, London, barked once.
"Want some food do you? Me too." Jack poured some dry food for London and took some cheese and salami slices for himself.
The screen door creaked and shut with a snap behind him as he walked outside. Jack winced, knowing he would be fixing that this week too. He looked over to a tractor showing rust around more than its edges.
Man, what was I thinking? He paused. A little farming, fresh air, the quiet and a change would do me good, he remembered.
He wondered. What would he do without the city lights and movement of people? All kinds of people, meandering together in ways he thought had agitated him, and now he felt he missed the rush...the communion. He felt antsy inside his belly as he looked around... at all this space. Time felt broader, unfilled and waiting for him--and he didn't know what to do.
I'd rather have ten things to get done in the same hour like I used to. I feel unproductive, even bored here. "The city never bored me. That's for certain." Doc said I needed a change to live. I don't know. I felt more alive before. Living out here may be slow self-extinguishing... all this silence.
A bark came from inside. Jack put his plate and beer down on the white wooden porch and stood from the rocking chair. London sat at the screened door, looking for company, looking for Jack.
"Come on out, guy" Jack said, as he opened the door. He figured his Lab would run over the grassy grounds with delight.
London didn't. He sat beside the rocker and looked up at Jack and then to the horizon.
Jack laughed. "Okay, let's see how this is done... this thing called relaxing." He sat down and reached to pet behind London's ears.
2009
Jack stood outside, leaning against the white post railing of the wrap-around porch. He looked over the horizon. Rolling hills stretched out in front of him. And in his view, long, uncut grasses waved as swirls of ocean breezes blew inland from the west.
He breathed in air so clean, he wondered if he were breathing at all.
Jack thought of the moving boxes inside. Some were opened, and all were labeled and in the appropriate rooms. The quietness surrounding him seemed louder than the taxi cabs he used to hear at night. That was of a time when he had been happy and hadn't known it. Now, he realized it.
Jack took another deep swallow of beer and crumpled the can in his hand. He left the porch and walked back into his cabin. A lone open window showed the only movement inside, as navy curtains shifted easily in the breeze like the outside grasses.
I miss the haze of smog as the sun sets in the city, he thought. His mind drifted as he walked over to boxes, opening a couple and walking away, disinterested in taking out any holdings.
Jack walked over to the refrigerator and got another beer.
A rhythm of quick steps caught his attention as he heard paws of his new Labrador slapping the wood floor. Looking down, Jack saw slobber drop next to his boot. His dog, London, barked once.
"Want some food do you? Me too." Jack poured some dry food for London and took some cheese and salami slices for himself.
The screen door creaked and shut with a snap behind him as he walked outside. Jack winced, knowing he would be fixing that this week too. He looked over to a tractor showing rust around more than its edges.
Man, what was I thinking? He paused. A little farming, fresh air, the quiet and a change would do me good, he remembered.
He wondered. What would he do without the city lights and movement of people? All kinds of people, meandering together in ways he thought had agitated him, and now he felt he missed the rush...the communion. He felt antsy inside his belly as he looked around... at all this space. Time felt broader, unfilled and waiting for him--and he didn't know what to do.
I'd rather have ten things to get done in the same hour like I used to. I feel unproductive, even bored here. "The city never bored me. That's for certain." Doc said I needed a change to live. I don't know. I felt more alive before. Living out here may be slow self-extinguishing... all this silence.
A bark came from inside. Jack put his plate and beer down on the white wooden porch and stood from the rocking chair. London sat at the screened door, looking for company, looking for Jack.
"Come on out, guy" Jack said, as he opened the door. He figured his Lab would run over the grassy grounds with delight.
London didn't. He sat beside the rocker and looked up at Jack and then to the horizon.
Jack laughed. "Okay, let's see how this is done... this thing called relaxing." He sat down and reached to pet behind London's ears.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
ps!!! always exploring
Yes, yes, whether big, or small, life is about exploring it---observing and feeling, wondering why at times the feelings or relations or moments are as they are. Experiencing life is what is happening... from birth until death (or crossover time). To explore self or explore life... it's quite a journey. (to be active in exploring and know this is being done..... not just chaotic feeling ---like one is "being done" while going thru the days.
I find it best now to go slower, observe more, be gentle and respect as much as I can. .. to learn or know what is good, what I want and how to get there....or accept and do what I can in the moment. And if I feel lost for a moment, staying still and looking for choices.
I find it best now to go slower, observe more, be gentle and respect as much as I can. .. to learn or know what is good, what I want and how to get there....or accept and do what I can in the moment. And if I feel lost for a moment, staying still and looking for choices.
It doesn't have to be big
I took a quiet break and checked in on my glowing embers.
I softly smiled at what I felt. Joy in seeing ladybugs the other day while trimming outside bushes, and in hearing the laughter of my children, and looking at their smiles. Feeling gratitude for my friends and our communications, seeing expansion of the world through, yes-- the internet, and the beautiful posts of life--photos and info of travel and home. Home... there's no place like home. (hmm I don't have, nor want, red slippers, but I do like my red sandals. :) )
I softly smiled at what I felt. Joy in seeing ladybugs the other day while trimming outside bushes, and in hearing the laughter of my children, and looking at their smiles. Feeling gratitude for my friends and our communications, seeing expansion of the world through, yes-- the internet, and the beautiful posts of life--photos and info of travel and home. Home... there's no place like home. (hmm I don't have, nor want, red slippers, but I do like my red sandals. :) )
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