Streams of consciousness come from all quarters,
Hurrying to create a sense of balance,
To find peace in some blessed gathering place.
Our origins are underground, but
We tumble down waterfalls,
Stretch and roll along shores both verdant and blasted,
Before resting in an ocean
That may need to cover the entire world before the end times. Continue reading
Winslow Homer 1893
The falling snow piled around his hut, the shelter he’d built at the edge of the woods, from stone and fallen trees, meadow grass and mud, the retreat that was far enough away from the Hold that he rarely got visitors, but near enough that he could watch the lights wink out in the north tower when the weather was clear. Continue reading
Bok choy and thin-sliced carrots, a bit past their freshness date, sizzled in the pan. She sniffed the aromas of sesame oil, lime, and Moroccan baked tofu. The sharp scent of sliced onion softened, long layers relaxing, rolling and shining over her cooking spoon. Continue reading
Prompt from Carrot Ranch is “Author’s Chair.” I chose to dream of where Vision begins.
Stepping from the top of one tree to middle of the other, she slides toward the trunk, tests each step. Continue reading
There’s a spot on the jaw, and under the chin,
That my fingers can touch, when he truly leans in.
Then his eyes squeeze shut and his head tips way back,
And I’m turning the tables with The Method Attack.