Peace

During this hectic winter season, I wish each of you one perfect moment of peace.

I will be gone for a while. I have a tumor in my right kidney, and surgery is scheduled for Thursday. I will be back as soon as I am strong enough to sit at the computer and create.
Be good...play nice. There is too much hurt in this world as it is......peace.

Tiger

Tiger, tiger burning bright?
Not this time I fear………
Running, ever running, always on the move -
The reasons not remembered, obscured within the mood,
And promise of new freedom, running with the lies
Taking reason’s chances, and dreaming of the prize…
Tiger can’t you see it- Don’t you really know?
You have to take you with you, wherever ere you go.
Tell yourself the reasons, believing that they’re true,
And yet, sometimes I wonder
Just who is fooling who.
Tiger stop, and listen, to the feelings in your heart.
Then and only then……….
Can you make a true new start.

Today

Today . .. I wish you all a day of ordinary miracles

Listen!

Can you hear it? The approach of winter riding in on the coat tails of autumn. Slowly, teasingly, it sneaks forth on silent wisps. Fooling the senses, hidden within the south wind and the smell of well thawed earth. It is coming. Soon, too soon, it will freeze the ground solid. Deathlike, the trees will stand as silent sentinels to the sky. Harsh, cold and unfeeling…..yet deep within the core of each thing, the renewal of life glimmers. Hold tight, keep safe. It’s just a fleeting moment, that’s all. A fleeting moment with a stark beauty all it’s own. Listen……………..WINTER.

Crystal Dragons

The Thanksgiving Duck

Thanksgiving Day was approaching
The men all went out to hunt
Mom wanted a great big turkey
They came back with a single duck.
She cleaned, and plucked, and cooked it
With orange sauce and tea ,
Brought it out to the table -
Where sat twenty three…
Her nerves were a little frazzled
She wasn’t sure what to say,
A tiny little duck to serve
Here on Thanksgiving Day.
Then Uncle Bud, with grin so wide
Did break the silence there,
He stood up tall and looked around,
Then sat down in his chair.
"I’m thankful for this bounty
The food’s not great but look!
We have good health - each other,
We’ve kids, and dogs, and books".
Then each in turn spoke up to say
How thankful they each were
For friendships and the blessings
Among the many there.
Somewhere within that laughter,
The talk, the smiles, and such
The dog snuck up and snagged it -
That ‘ol Thanksgiving duck.
But no one seemed to notice,
Their hearts were full you see,
Who cares if dog got lucky
Stuffed full of duck with tea.
Perhaps it’s not the food you eat
Or how you serve the goods
It’s counting all the blessings,
Remembering all the thoughts,
That bring us here together
Whether families or online -
Happy Thanksgiving wishes all!
Have a "bountiful" time.

Waiting for Pie

Flight of a Thousand Geese

They came last night in that time just after sunset. Wave after wave of Canadian geese flying out of the West. Hundreds of them broken into separate groups, heading away from the newly set sun to find a place to settle for the night. I had never seen anything like it, and like a small child I was enthralled. This morning while we were feeding the horses, a sound began to build. The roar of a million people applauding……it was surreal. Like sleepy humans suddenly discovering that they are late for work, the geese rose in one great thundering mass. They were too far away to see, and never hearing anything like it before, the horses showed signs of panic. They wanted to run, but the people they trusted were standing at ease and looking to the sky. Being the trusting beings that they are, those horses stood still, the only evidence of their panic instinct showing in their erect posture and wildly flashing eyes. As the geese approached, they once again broke into separate groups, each heading toward an unknown destination. I can fully understand now why ancient man believed his world to be populated with gods and spirits. It was amazing…..truly amazing.

I Remember

I remembered you today.
Sitting in the tattered remains of the garden,
I thought I heard your voice in the quiet chirp of
a tiny wren.
Your smile flashed at me from the swirl of the squirrel’s tail
as he sat stretched forward on a tree limb
waiting to raid the bird feeder.
I remembered you today.
Sitting there where flowers bloomed,
and vines danced along the ground.
Today there are only stark branches and the few
lonely remains of leaves clinging up high,
refusing to let go and accept their fate.
I thought I saw your bright dancing eyes as one of those leaves
fell to the birdbath, and the sun sparked
from the edge of a tiny ripple.
Memories are so fragile.
They sometimes fade to gauze, leaving only
the imprint of sadness.
The breeze bustled through the branches,
and I thought I heard your contented sigh.
The world righted, and my tears dried.
I remembered you today………
And I smiled.

After the Storm

All Hallows

Bonfires burning high on a hill
Chanting and singing - voices then still
Hush child, no sound make,
Here - - or they'll see,
Silent among us is what we must be.
Mist lifting slowly, fluidly turns
Winding around the fires that burn
Look! Wide eyed in horror
See what is there!
High in the sky the spirits do stir
Shifting and moving down through the night
Quickly now! Gather here close to the light.
Fingers of fear reaching through and around
Twisting and turning and dancing aground
Flee for your lives, then someone does yell
Run fast my child 'for you end up in hell!
Fly like the wind, and the children do scream
Hope you all have a HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Footfalls

The fog rolled in this morning, thick, deep, comforting.
Shrouding the everyday sounds of life in a muffler
of gauzy mist swirling in the early morning light.
I hear footfalls
A gentle thud upon the fallen leaves, no longer crisp
from sun and wind and rain.
More feeling than sound, sightless in this cocoon of
earthbound cloud, I stop and listen.
No direction of vibration, nowhere to fix upon the coming
Footfalls
Gently, so gently, as though made by some ethereal being
bringing hope of sunrise……….
Breath held, senses awakening, mind reaching
for those unknown
Footfalls
I turn tentatively, and there, beneath the brush
yellow eyes glow in the mist.
In one swift, fluid movement she is gone.
Cougar has graced my path, leaving no sound
of footfalls.

Harmonic Convergence

Cougar

She comes in the early morning hours. This land is at the outer fringe of her territory. There is not enough rock, not enough cover for her comfort level. We have a truce, she and I. While she knows that I am no threat to her, she also knows that this is my territory. My scent is everywhere. Something in that scent tells her that I mean her no harm, and in return she graces me with a cat like blink and a playful huff, as she rolls in the grass a few yards away. I simply call her cougar. She never hunts the domestic fowl that roam the yard. She comes for the grain fattened rabbit that frolic here. I understand that she would never come unless she were hungry. I sit quietly on the deck or in a chair by the fish pond and smile at her antics. She is much like the barn cats in her mannerisms, and I look for the cues and postures I have learned from them, to see if I can predict what she is about. She likes to hear me sing softly in the early morning, and will turn expectantly if I become quiet. We have an easy relationship bourn of mutual respect. One day I hope to see her bring young ones to learn to hunt the rabbit, and grace me with the ability to observe and learn. Cougar. I have no doubt that were I in her territory and seen as a threat, she would attack. But here, where no threat exists we find a strange sort of friendship. There will come a time when she will no longer come. Her territory is far reaching, and I have no hold on her. I dread that day. Never knowing if I will see her again, my heart will become heavy with worry. My imagination runs wild at these times, and I always think the worse. The truth is, perhaps I need this constriction of heart and soul to teach me something. Nothing in this life is permanent. Even love changes from day to day. Perhaps she has been sent to teach me to accept. Not the inevitable parting, but the current joy. I find myself praying to that unknown God at these times. Let me feel what I have been given before it’s gone….before it’s a memory and I have only fragments to grasp at. Teach me to look beyond my self and accept the small joys given in the now. It’s a prayer not often answered with a yes. This lesson I must learn on my own. So I sit and watch. I let the morning sun rise quietly behind my shoulder, and no thought comes. Just let it be M………. Just be.

Autumn Fields

Desperate Balance

I can’t do this anymore
Walking the edge between the dark and the light
I can’t do this any more,
this constant battle. There is no more fight, no more light
just the shadows curling around my thoughts.
Just walk away, let it be ,let me go and find my way.
A dark gentle place to soothe my soul.
For a day, a month, a week, a year or a lifetime.
Promise me peace, promise me soothing words
Anything but those you can’t keep.
I can’t do this anymore.
Give it away and away and away with nothing coming back.
Find the words that will break the tie,
The way to make it count………..
The balance - there is none.

Silent Soundings

Soft sweet darkness of night, velvet texture surrounds me.
I close my eyes and feel the soundings of her heartbeat,
Touch the spirit of her fleeting time.
Ebb and flow of starlight arching across the sky
To begin and end in a single blink of the eye.
Wisps of chilling breeze touching the senses
Awakening the mind.
Moonrise drawing back the curtain of seeming blackness
And revealing the eyes of life within the brush
My heart leaps to the song of the nighthawk
Filling with the beauty of it’s call.
And all too soon it is done.
The morning sun demands his due,
As I retreat once more within.

Autumn at the Beach

Talisman

Dream catcher hangs by the cradle
To dance and delight in the breeze
A toy to catch the eye
And bring a tiny smile.

Dream catcher hangs by the young one’s bed
To chase away the gloom
Like a mother’s soft touch
In the night, or a treasured doll
Hugged close against the storm

Dream catcher hangs by the old one’s cot
To remind him of his youth
A time when talismans brought comfort
It seems to only hold dust, yet he knows….

Dream catcher hangs near my heart
Holding my dreams until I am ready
To pluck one and smile at how
It has softened through the years.

He knows because he put it there
Attached with tiny strands of love
Dream catcher on the wall is a symbol
Tattered by wind and dust
But dream catcher within is everlasting….
Spun threads of time gone by
And of love to keep me safe.

Dream catcher hangs near my soul
A gift to remind me of
Small joys and hope………..

Capture

Tick-Tock

Tick tock goes the clock
Counting down the days…
How soon before we forget?
Not the sorrow of the countless lives lost
Not the horror of the scenes before us.
Tick tock goes the clock
And tomorrow’s tomorrow will
Bring about the change
We will forget. We will return
To the ways of being human.
Tick tock and time will tell.
When we miss the beauty of the sunrise
The dew glistening on the spider web
A simple smile given and sent.
Tick tock…goes the clock………
Today we hold together and bond
Within our hearts
But what about tomorrow?
When the numbness wears off,
And the daily bit of living returns
Tick tock - Tick tock
Will we remember the lessons learned -
That life is a gift, living a joy
And all we have is each other
And the giving.
Tick….tock.
I wonder, and I hope.

Morning Tide

An Observation

Maybe it comes from hundreds of hours watching horses while trying to pinpoint a hidden physical problem that may be the cause of a sudden behavioral shift, but I like to watch body parts. Not in the way you think….well, I like that too, but this is a little different. I like to watch the way they move, and interact. The tendons of the forearm of construction workers….the calf muscles of runners. Peoples backs are a source of endless fascination. And hands. Talk about diversity! Rough hands, graceful hands…long fingers, crooked fingers. We all use our hands in basically the same way, but the movement is different in each person. My Great Gran had a face full of deep, wonderful wrinkles, that gave the impression of a poor, work hardened woman. But those hands were graceful and eloquent. They told the story of a woman who knew who she was…a woman who was gentle, proud, and self confident. Where the face said she was old and feeble, her hands were steady and strong, giving lie to the illusion of frailty. The parts of the whole tell more than the "face" we each like to present to the world. The parts and their movement tell the story of where we are and how we feel inside. Because we can't control the parts, they are a more accurate barometer of the mood. The next time someone crabs at you, watch the way they move. Be a little more gentle in your assessment of their current personality. Watch, and you may find the hidden pain that causes them to be the way they are.

Juxtaposition of Balance

Silent Knowing

Still waters run deep they say.
I sit and think - how untrue
Still waters sit and stagnate
Turning in upon themselves like
the churning muck of unforgiveness.
Let me be a spring instead..
Cool and clear, ever moving
To the sound of hope.
Running freely without quilt or
Remorse, to reach my true destination.
Water of life - forgiveness, joy and
The acceptance of sorrow.
The realities unblotted by the murk
Of still waters.
And the truth revealed.....
Joy within the small things,
Hope renewed in the eyes of love,
And learning to reach beyond
the limits of self.

Moonstruck

A study in lighting

Prejudice

Right now as I am sitting here,
I wonder about the truth.
How you feel about me..
From where comes this dark root?
Don't tell me what I want to hear,
I know it isn't true....

It shows in the way you laugh too loud,
Or the way you cock your head.
As though you try so hard to hide
The feelings that you dread.
I never understood this thing,
The differences that show,
And how you try and hide it,
Called prejudice.......I know.
It comes in many forms , insidious and mean
From where I sit I just don't know
What pleasure that you glean.
My eyes are brown, and yours are blue
I'm smart and you are not.
Perhaps I'm fat or ugly
But what..tell me what,
That .....Has....to do with it???

In my perfect world ,
Each person would be blind
To all the outward things,
And dwell with flights of mind.
We'd value each uniqueness
For the treasure that is hidden,
And wipe away the hate and hurt,
That's inflicted quite unbidden.
But perfect worlds do not exist
Within my narrow sight
So I'll take you're barbs and arrows
I will not run in fright.

I have the right to be here
In this world, and try,
To make the most of what I know
And let my spirit fly.
I have the right of value
For things within my mind
Yet I still extend my hand to you.
Even though ......
you are not blind.

The Worm in the Apple

The Teaching

In memory of my Grandfather.....

O-hay-o he said, are the words that you say,
Facing the sun, greeting the day.
Her child's hand in his, she looked in his eyes
To the innocent one, the Elder seemed wise.
You will teach me the old ways, the ones that you
know?
You will teach me the secrets, the way that they go?
He looked at her gently, this innocent child
The one who held wonder with spirit so wild.
Hush child and watch, listen and learn,
The secrets aren't given, they must always be earned.
His head tilted back, his arms to the sky
With a voice deep and clear he uttered a cry.
Jesu Christus he sang - did the child hear him wrong?
These words, they're in Latin! They come from church
songs!
O-hay-o Great Spirit, I give you my soul
A prayer for this young one, so that she may know.
He gently reached down and ruffled her hair
Her eyes became wide- -understanding was there.
It's not what you sing or the words that you say
It's not where you stand when greeting the day.
The child knew the secret the Elder would teach
The meaning was clear and she need not be meek.
A prayer is a prayer! She didn't feel coy -
Simply sing in your heart to each day's new joy.

To Hear a Feather Drop

The boys have shed their tails, so there will be peace on the prairie, at least for a little while. There will be no fighting on my new roof, no attempting to spur each other (and us if we get in the way) No calling and screeching all night at the slightest sound that could be seen as a threat. Unfortunately, there will be no more watch cocks patrolling the grounds and signaling when something…anything, enters the driveway. The good with the bad. The other good….chicks!!! Six little peafowl so far. There are still two hens sitting on nests (one in the horse feeder, lol) They’re young hens though, so the odds are not good for a hatch. Blessings. I am always filled with wonder at the prospect of new life. Nature isn’t kind, yet these babies, already complete with genetic warnings of danger, march bravely into the world to explore and survive. They put humans to shame in a certain sense. We are so quick to whine and snivel at the slightest inconvenience, and here are these little fluff balls marching in the rain to hunt for food. Lessons. I learn and forget, learn and forget. I am only human after all. But I too will persevere, if for no other reason than to prove that I too can do this thing called life. I too can march in the rain storms that life throws my way, and I can survive. Blessings, right outside my window, and deep inside my being. If they can do this, so can I…so can I.

Moon Ride

The full moon is rising, it's bringing the tide,
High with emotions and I'm gonna ride.
Flying away on the wings of a song,
Finding fulfillment and strength without wrongs.
Taking a grip on the winds as they change,
Exalting in freedoms that come within range.
Setting my mind free from tight grips that hold,
And bringing a smile with stories so bold.
Come take my hand for there's healing in touch,
Next thing is laughter, and words gentle rush.
Follow along and fly in the path,
Of the full moon's clear rising , yet feel for the
past.
Reach for the stars and the future they blaze,
Wipe back the tears that created the haze.
The full moon is rising, come fly on the storm,
Of new hopes and dreams, and press back the norms.
Mind's flying tempest and hope's giddy flight
Can bring resolution and help find the light.
Strip away boundaries that lock you in stress
And create a new future from each saddened mess.
The full moon is rising, give it full sway,
Find new beginnings in each dawning day.
Reach out your hand, your heart and your mind,
Touching each other this way, you will find
That truth goes much deeper than senses can feel
And those new beginnings will rise... and be real.

Walking Backward

Walking backward is awkward at best,
seeing with eyes from behind.
Stalking the twilight memories
reeling past in agonizing slow motion.
Visions of past, sweet and bitter
with no purpose other than the passing of time.
A life lived as in a dream,
with reality’s shatterproof heart.
Walking backward through emotions of old
renewed over and over in silent replay….
Sweetest of all on hold - held dear,
and wanting to live them again.
Yet how can a soul reach outward and grow,
with the promise of futures unknown,
when Walking Backward………….

Conditions

You want too much.
Cloaking the greed in a mantel of caring,
cloaking the need even from yourself.
So easily we are lured with the complacency of friendship,
giving rise to our own hidden desire to be heard.
Questions, like tendrils snaking into my soul,
seeking to know that which I hold true and dear.
Questions clouded in the caring, to be devoured….
to feed the greed, to satisfy the need,
and leaving my empty shell behind,
Wondering what hit me.

Kótyangwúti

Inspired by Native American mythos of Spider Woman.
Created in Apophysis (a freeware fractal flame program)

Acceptance

See me now for what I am
Proud, strong, beautiful
Reach past the discomfort of self
The deformity of perception.
See me now for what I am
Free, giving, needing
Seeking a gentle smile, a warm word.
See me now for what I am
I am the beauty who’s mind is dismissed
because of her looks
The shy one who peeks from behind
the curtain of uncertainty
I am the ugly duckling who is dismissed
because I am hard to look upon
The elder who is ignored because
my body is frail
I am the teenager who is dismissed because
my knowledge is seen as yet so new.
See me now for what I am
Here, where my heart beats, my soul flies
And my dreams dare to fill me with hope.
See me now for what I truly am
For I am you…and you
And you

Ribbons Red

Ribbons red strung across the sky.
Cables of infinity, hoisting the sun
from the deep chasm of night,
and glowing scarlet with the heat of her fire.
Ribbons red radiating from the core
of our lifeblood, to awaken the day.
As she rises in splendor, they undulate and dance,
no longer needed as red turns to gold, and the new day begins.
Ribbons red floating away to become part of the whole,
much like a soul returning to the Creator.
And I smile within, knowing……….
Nothing is forever, yet nothing ever ends.
Ribbons red to teach of new beginnings.

A Dragon with Green Balls

Oh, so what exactly did you think you’d find?
This is for Dan with an apology. Dragons are not my forte. They are difficult to morph (change body parts) hard to pose, and impossible when trying to create skin textures. It’s a total fight every time. But I had to do this one for you because most dragon have green balls……..*winks*

Dragonfly

I fished a dragonfly out of the pond this morning. He had landed to drink, and gotten caught in a bit of string algae. The once iridescent wings looked pale, and listless. I don’t know if dragonflies have eyelids, but it seemed to me his were closed. Perhaps it was just the pall of death beginning to overtake his body. I scooped him out with an old pancake flipper, and gently laid him in the sun. I found myself unconsciously thinking, “breathe, damnit!” There was a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch. Had he died after all? Then another twitch, and the color began to return to the wings. As I watched, those eyes took on a spark, and I began to hope. The oppressive heat and brutal sun that I had been avoiding for days was healing and reviving this tiny creature. Within minutes, that dragonfly was flexing his wings, and as the speed picked up, I could almost imagine what a maelstrom it would create if it were the size of a jet. Suddenly it took flight, and my heart began to sing. Why should I care if this small insect survived? It’s singular existence held little impact in my world. Or did it? Perhaps this particular dragonfly was fated to eat the mosquito that would have carried west Nile virus to my horse. Perhaps, it would eat the fly that carried infection with it’s bite. I think more honestly, that this small greenish bug captured the still existing child in my soul. That tiny bit of innocence that I refuse to give up to the realities of life. I hold dear to that bit of innocence. From it comes my ability to love…and to care enough to fish out a little green dragonfly, and hope it would live.

Who are "You"?

I closed my Face Book page last week. No one noticed. Seriously. Not a single person on my friends list has thus far mentioned my leaving. That says volumes about me, or them…or the whole FB premise that the “I” is more important than the “you”. In my world, everyone comes with a story….everyone. All I have to do is listen. In this virtual blip blop world, the only story that is important is the mine. Millions of one sided identities who strive for the biggest friends list or the Twitter tripe that garners the most quips. I keep asking, where is the story? Who are you., what are your dreams and horrors…..what makes you uniquely “you”. I don’t want to press some vague “likes” button. I don’t want to leave a 50 character comment. I want to discuss. I miss the old MSN groups (actually, they were originally called Communities) We talked, we played stupid games, and we talked. I am one of those people who say that change is the antithesis of decay, but some changes are the actual decay. When people stop talking to each other and focus solely on talking at each other, the humanity that makes us special is slowly but inevitably eroded away. It scares me. Perhaps I can say it better here…

The souls within their eyes do speak
Calling out to hear,
See the cry within my smile
Touch this heart of fear.
Find not fault with how I am
Understanding I do seek
I am angry, quiet, bold
Perhaps you find me meek.
Each comes with a story
Feelings, hurts and joys.
And, there is within each
The need to quiet noise.
I simply take what's given,
A spark within me lights.
A tiny piece of offered soul
I'll keep it safe -
And write.

Go talk to someone. Give a tiny piece of yourself, and then really, really listen to what they have to say.

Moondark

Moon dark is coming
Keep hold on your thoughts!
Darkness abounds, emotions
Are wrought.
Moon dark is coming
A dangerous time!
For ranting and raving-
And speaking your mind.
Moon dark is coming
This time in the month
When emotions swing low,
And nerves seem to jump.
Take hold of your meanings
It’ll soon pass
Then we will be
in the upswing at last.
Moon dark is coming
It’s balance you know,
Is called the full moon,
in the night sky it glows.
So ride out the lows
On the way to the highs
For moon dark is coming
It will soon be nigh!

Lore

Damselmyth in lightning cowl
Reaching toward the sky
Searching with those keen dark eyes
Ever wondering why
Fathom deep the magic here
Feel the power true
Dragon’s fire issues forth
With meaning ever new
Flights of fancy mixing deep
With Earth’s sweet pull of lore
Rising suns and darkening moons
Now enter through the door
Tendrils seek to pull and sway
Winding round the mind
Faerie laugh on tiny feet
And peace there you will find
Gentle laughter coaxing now
Come out here and play
Magic realms of fantasy
Do brighten up the day….

A Child's Eye View

Bless me Father for I have sinned. I remember the first time I went into the confessional and said those words. It was just before my First Communion, and it meant I was entering the world of adults. The real world where you got to do penance. I loved the ritual of penance. You got to go up to the alter and say so many Hail Marys and Our Fathers, and if you were really sinful, you did the Stations of the Cross. I wanted that more than anything. As I sat waiting my turn I had planned the whole thing. Walking up the isle and genuflecting at the cross point…….then deciding which way to turn, left or right in order to kneel and do penance at the alter rail. I wanted to light a candle but didn’t remember if that was part of penance or for something else. The confessional was cool and dark, and smelled of polished wood and scrubbed floors. A faint scent of incense hung in the air although none burned. I kneeled on the floor and said the words.” Bless me Father for I have sinned.” There was silence for a moment and then he spoke. “Where are you?” He was Father Joseph. I was never sure whether he was a priest or a brother, but we called him father and he was one of my favorite people. He wore long brown robes and sandals, and was in town again especially for this First Communion. Not once had he sent me away or punished me for my never ending questions. “I’m kneeling on the floor. I have to do penance.” There was silence again and I thought for sure he had left. “Get up child, you have to tell me your sins before you do penance.” Sins? What sins? I was all of maybe seven. What did I know about sins? I knew I was in big trouble. I hadn’t planned on the telling of the sins part. I guess I wasn’t paying attention in that part of class. I have never been good at lying. It was never part of my nature, but my whole shot at penance was riding on being able to come up with sins. “Well crap.” It was out before I thought. Out before I could grab the words back and try and think up something sinful. “What did you say?” I knew I had blown it. He was going to send me away and there would be no penance. “I said crap, father. I need to do penance. I have been planning this penance ever since my Mom first brought me to church. You have to let me do penance, and maybe light a candle too?” There was that blasted silence again, and a strange sort of muffled wheezing. It sounded as though father Joseph was going to pop a lung. “Well you know, saying crap to a priest could be considered a sin.” I was beside myself with joy! “Big enough to do the Stations of the Cross?” I held my breath. This was going to be it. I just might get the chance. “No little one. Why don’t you save that for some other time.” It was my turn to be silent. Maybe a bigger swear word would do it .It wasn’t going to work. I knew really big words, but no big swear words. Darn. I was doomed. “ I’ll tell you what. You say two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers, and light a candle for someone special. That will be your penance.” Yes!!!!!!! I was floating on air. I was getting penance and getting to light a candle. Every other thought left my mind. I was going up there where God could get a good look at me and know that I had arrived. Me, who had vexed the sisters into throwing her out of class. Me, who asked too many questions and could never seem to just accept, had finally arrived. My carefully planned walk down the isle was blown all to hell. I flung myself out of the confessional and ran down the isle shouting “Hey God! I made it!!! Are you ready?” Somewhere from the area of the confessional came a burst of laughter. Maybe father Joseph had popped that lung after all.

Friends

"In order to have a friend, you have to be a friend." That was my Mother’s constant admonishment to me. My reply was always the same. "Books don’t have that kind of requirement!" She would give a long suffering sigh and walk away shaking her head. What can I say? I was ahead of my peers in school, and the older kids didn’t want to have anything to do with "geek girl". Books were my friends. They were always there for me, never questioned my questions, and didn’t mind the fact that I was always in their face. LOL My current reads are within my favorite genre. The first is People of the Weeping Eye by W. Michael Gear and Kathleen O’Neal Gear. They are the authors of The First North Americans series, and I have to admit that I have been hooked from the very first book in this series. My second read is The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova. It is, supposedly, a modern day vampire tale. So far, all I can say is that it is beautifully written and interesting enough to keep me reading… Friends… There are two others waiting quietly on the book shelf. They will be there for me when I need them...they will not require I meet some social standard of looks or personality, or a high speed internet connection that allows Face Book fun. I will be fine just the way I am, and isn’t that what we all hope for...to be accepted just the way we are.

I don´t actually live in Wichita. I simply use it as a point of reference that people might recognize. I actually live on the edge of the Kansas Flint Hills, an absolutely magical place of prairie, wind and cattle, that seem like tiny moving objects when viewed from the road. I did at one time live in Wichita, and by way of a few strange circumstances, I found myself buying a small farm out here in the middle of nowhere. I was looking for peace, a sense of quiet, and sanctuary against what I viewed as a world gone mad. The windmill sits at the edge of a curve in the driveway. The point to all of this? If the opportunity to explore something/someplace different presents itself, follow your yellow brick road, even if it leads to your own back yard. The magic is there. Find it...capture it, and keep it within to comfort you against a world that sometimes goes mad.