To All, to Each

We moved onto a five-acre forest back in the summer of ’88. We had an ax, a shovel, a saw, a tent, and two 55-gallon barrels we’d use for our water. It was mid-July when we spent our first night there. As we sat around the campfire, hundreds of eyes glowed within the shadows of surrounding trees. I was reminded of the movie Snow White when she is running through the woods in the dark, spooked by all those eyes who, in the light of morning, turned out to be the friendly creatures of the forest, curious about her. Which … Continue reading To All, to Each

The Scent of a Memory

My Grandmother Ethel was the only AVON lady in Twin Falls Idaho for many, many years. I remember  her so vivid when I smell such things as the original Skin So Soft oil. Once, a few years back, I spotted Avon selling an old fragrance, one they don’t sell any more but were running the vintage scent for a limited time, so I ordered it because I recalled that bottle as one Grandma Williams had on her oval-mirrored vanity. It was a tall, golden-yellow bottle, slimmer towards the top. It had an orange plastic rendition of a jewel on the … Continue reading The Scent of a Memory

Sentimental

I love the play of light and shadow—moody places in time—to soak them up into my being—to treasure and share. Realizing I am connected to the past and sharing the present. Time seems meaningless. Who touched that tree, alone, and thought about their lover? Who leaned against it while embracing their love?  Don’t tell me it didn’t happen. I feel it so it did, and will continue to do so. I touch the tree, gently, and lean into it thinking of you . . . This post was inspired by the Daily Post prompt: Evanescent.   Continue reading Sentimental

Message from the Little Green Men

We, my husband, myself, and my nine-year-old son, were living in our 12 x 16 unfinished “homestead” cabin (without power or running water) and, due to the constant rain, we were bored. Until I, creative person that I am, had an idea of something we could do to pass the time as a family. “Hey Greg,” I said, catching my son’s attention. “How about you trot upstairs and bring down that package of army men your uncle gave to you.” I could tell by the look he shot me that he thought it strange  his mom was asking for his army … Continue reading Message from the Little Green Men

Proposition for Prepositions

Is your mind unmoored and adrift, frantically splashing around in a sea full of unformed ideas with no life preserver and the only buoy in sight wears a hanging sign that rocks the words “Writer’s Block?”  Fear not. I’m here, a wordmaid supported by prepositional fins, to help you float your imagination to that wonderful land, the Land of Word-filled Pages. For a writer with almost no academic credentials, I have something to say about writer’s block, something I was taught in the seventh grade. It has always worked well for me, and I’m amazed that I have not, as of this moment, at the … Continue reading Proposition for Prepositions

A New Generation Descends Upon

It was Mother’s Day and time for the youngest grandchild to descend the path and touch his reflection within the gently trickling waters of the special place I take every grandchild to on their very first “hike” with me. Years before, another: And so it goes. It might not be the Blarney Stone, but it is a right of passage. Silly, nutty Grandma! It’s’ what I do. This post was triggered by The Daily Post: Descend   Continue reading A New Generation Descends Upon

Huckleberry’s Visitor

Today’s photo challenge is: Atop. Yes, atop. That is a strange word I will probably never use anywhere else ever except right here. I cannot sing Atop of old Smokey, I cannot sing I’m atop of the world so tell all creation. It must be my American “English” showing. It just wouldn’t be right. Kinda like dived verses dove. (No not dove as in bird, but doughve as in the bird doughve into the water. Good gads, to say the bird dived into the water simply doesn’t sit well with me.) Good thing this is a photo challenge!   Continue reading Huckleberry’s Visitor