A Thin Thread

A thin thread of a small life
17 years 4 months
4 white feet
Faint tabby stripes
And a white blaze down his nose.

A miniature mountain lion
In peaches and cream
Sleeping on my bed
And begging for dairy treats.

A fierce hunter.
A good companion.
A vibrant spirit
A clever mind
And sheer determination.

Silently sleep
Quietly pass
Into the darkness of the night
And into the brightness of the day.

(In memory of my cat, Lucky, who I had to put down today.) 

Not Another Ghost Story

I’m not going to write another ghost story.
No matter what they say.
Not going to write about chains rattling
On a dark and stormy night.

I’m not going to write about
Ghosts who weep and wail
And bang on the walls
While everyone else tries to sleep.

I might write about vampires seeking blood
Or about werewolves seeking friends.
I might write about a bigfoot and a Chupacabra
Looking for a long lost fishing pole.

But I’m not going to write about ghosts.
Nor about any women in white.
Nor about any spiteful spirits out to write wrongs.

Because I don’t want to write another ghost story.
No, thank you.
Not tonight.

Cranberry Carpet And Glinting Gizmos

“The carpet…I remember the carpet.” Polly kept her eyes closed. “It surprised me. It was a shag carpet. I didn’t expect it to be a shag carpet. Seemed strange for it to be in such a place.”

“Tell me more about it.” Sergeant Reynolds said.

“It was the color of fresh cranberry juice. You know, that rich, really red color. Almost looks black until you spill it. Then, you see the red of it. All over.”

“What else do you remember?”

“The carpet was incongruous with the surroundings. The carpet was so…” She smiled. “…soft and friendly. Like you could just lie down on it and fall asleep.”

“And the surroundings? What of them?”

A frown creased her eyebrows. “A lot of sharp metal. Silver-like. Glinting. Hard. Unfriendly.”

“Were they weapons?”

She shook her head. “If they were, I didn’t recognize them as such. They were just…gizmos.”

“But they struck you as unfriendly.”



“Too many sharp edges.”

“What else do you remember about them?”

“I couldn’t make sense of them. What they were. How they were meant to be held. How they were meant to be used. None of it made sense to me.”

“Did you touch any of them?”



“I had a strong feeling that it would be unwise to touch them. I don’t know why I had that feeling, but it was there.”

“Did they put that idea in your head?”

“I don’t know, sir. That thought, that feeling, seemed normal enough. Like something I would think. There was nothing foreign about it. Nothing that set my nerves on edge.”

“Would you be willing to go back for further investigations?”

Polly thought about her missing fingers, about the long wound still healing on her back. She opened her eyes and fixed a steady look on the man standing before her. His hair was trimmed in a tight buzz cut. A crisp military uniform covered his well-distributed 286 pounds. He carried his own world of scars on his body — some she had seen, others she had not.

“Well? Are you willing to go back once you’re fully healed?”

She considered the risks of returning to the alien spacecraft. There were many risks. She considered the benefits. There were just a few, but they were all well worth it.

Polly raised her head with pride and determination. “Yes. I will go back.”

April Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

Guardians For Wizard Hen

I am Oliesh, a guardian.
A guardian of the Mushroom Forest.
It is my job to guard the forest and keep it safe.

I am Hramat, a guardian.
A guardian of the graveyard.
A graveyard so green.
A graveyard so serene.
It is my job to guard the graveyard and keep it safe.

I guard the Mushroom Forest for Wizard Hen.
This forest is important to him.
I don’t question why.
I am a guardian and I will do my job.

I guard the graveyard for Wizard Hen.
The graveyard is sacred to him.
It holds the bones of those he holds dear.
It is here that they were laid to rest.
And they rest breathless and well.
I am a guardian and I do my job.

I am Oliesh, a guardian of the Mushroom Forest.

I am Hramat, a guardian of the graveyard.

I guard the forest and keep it safe.

I guard the graveyard and keep it safe.

I keep it safe for Wizard Hen.

I keep it safe for Wizard Hen.

For it is my job.

It is my job.

And I do it well.

I do it very well.

April Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt


The lollipop was too danged hot. No matter where he tried to lick it, it was too hot for his mouth to handle. But he kept trying.

He hoped that maybe his taste buds would be singed into submission.

He hoped that he would somehow grow to like the taste of cayenne, sriracha, and wasabi mixed into a lollipop.

But it burned. Burned so much. Burned so hot. Burned so bad.

Tears welled up in his eyes and fell. Fell down his face. Fell onto the wedding announcement in the newspaper.

And he kept trying. Kept trying to like the painfully hot lollipop. Kept trying to convince his taste buds that it tasted just fine.

But more tears fell.

No matter how hard he tried, more tears fell.

They fell onto her smiling face.

April Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

Alleviating The Ache

Every day is a little harder.
Every day is a little easier.
Every day is a little reminder.
Every day is a little forget.

And the ache is there.
In heart

And the ache is there.
In bed.
Living room.
Family room.

It is there.
In minutes.

But they say,
“The pain won’t last forever.”
“The ache will lessen.”
“The ache will one day cease to be.”

And they say,
“Start dating again.”
“Keep your heart open to love.”
“Let me give your name and number to this great guy I know.”

But you’re afraid.
To say yes.
To give love another chance.
To open your heart to that final hurt again.

For the ache is there.
It is always there.
Every day, it is there.

Until one day
You meet him.
Not your husband.
Not even close.
Someone different.
Someone new.

And you give him a chance.
You unlock your heart.
You open your soul.
To this someone else.
To this someone different.
To this someone new.

The ache is still there.
But it is quiet.
It sits in the dark
On a wooden stool.
In an empty room.

Every day, the ache is less.
Less present.
Less real.
More a dream.

Though the ache won’t ever fully leave,
It is alleviated.

March 2021 Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

Writing About……Graceling—So Much Anticipation!

Margaret at weirdzeal.com recently did a post about her 59 thoughts I had while rereading the Graceling books. Her thoughts about the books hooked me. It sounded a lot like something I would enjoy. 

So, I went to the nearby Barnes and Noble. They had Fire and Winterkeep, but not Graceling. I was like *shrugs* “Okay. I’ll get these two and order Graceling.” That was all the way back on February 3rd. 

I’ve been watching my e-mail, stalking the progress of the book’s arrival. The estimated date was February 10, but! It actually came today! 

And ooo! Graceling is one shiny paperback. So shiny! I tried to take a picture of it, but I couldn’t do the shininess proper justice.

I have it sitting next to me as I’m typing this up. I’m so looking forward to reading it. I’ll start reading it while I’m eating supper tonight.

I will do a follow up post about my thoughts about this book as I’m reading it.

See you all then!


59 thoughts I had while rereading the Graceling books – Weird Zeal

If I Were The Wind….

If I were the wind,
I would be a calm, balmy 
I would feel like a caress.
I would feel like a friendly hand.

If I were the wind,
My breath would never be full
Of rain.
My touch would hold no thunder
Or lightning bolts.

If I were the wind,
I would be a friendly 
I would play with kites and keep them
From tangling in trees.
I would keep them
Airborne in straight lines.

If I were the wind,
I would never carry
I would carry 
Birdsong and laughter and joy
In my air
In my breeze
If I were the wind.

February 2021 Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

The Daily Spur Presents……La Stessa, La Stessissima Variations

Alice loved watching him play the piano. There was no denying it. She loved how watching his fingers move in fast rat-a-tat staccatos and in graceful lilting phrases.

She had watched him practice so many pieces. Mozart. Beatles. Chopin. Disney. Beethoven. 


In particular, Beethoven’s 10 variations on Salieri’s La Stessa, La Stessissima. 

His fingers pranced and danced through the difficult phrases and measures. He quietly mouthed “Bah bah buh bah bah.” through some of the trickier parts, which made her smile. She remembered doing that herself when she had learned that piece.

She had learned it, but never managed to reach his level of mastery. Her fingers always bumped and tripped into each other. She never could get them to move quite fast enough. 

He played it with all of the important expression and all of the joy the piece required. It was not meant to be played like a perfect wind up toy. It was meant to be played like a little girl twirling in a brand new dress. It was meant to be like a goldfinch’s uplifting song. It was meant to be all of the best parts of springtime. Flowers and new grass. Lilac leaf buds growing bigger by the day.

That was what that piece meant to her.

And she could tell that it meant the same thing to him as well.

As he played, she remembered the girl she once was. She twirled in her soft cotton housedress. She almost caught a whiff of lilac blossoms and fresh strawberries and new grass.

The front screen door opened and banged shut.

Alice stopped just as his fingers went still.

His mother entered the room and kissed his head. “Sounds like you’re getting better.”

He smiled up at her. “Do you really think so? The ending keeps tripping me up.”

Alice smiled at him. Even though she knew he could not see or hear her voice, she said, “You sound wonderful, my dear grandson. I’m so proud of you both.” 

Alice’s daughter sat on the piano bench to help him through the ending.

Alice watched them for a few minutes more before quietly fading away.

10 Variations on :”La stessa, la stessissima”, WoO 73 from Salieri’s “Falstaff”: Variation X | The Daily Spur (wordpress.com)