Do stars look to the heavens and marvel at their surroundings?
Might they gossip over a neighbor’s blueshift or trails of cosmic dust
as they redshift on their path to eternity? Continue reading
Do stars look to the heavens and marvel at their surroundings?
Might they gossip over a neighbor’s blueshift or trails of cosmic dust
as they redshift on their path to eternity? Continue reading
Whenever the travel bug sends me to a place where I don’t speak the language, I make it a point to learn how to say No – Thank you. In my experience, a nod accompanied by a smile will do for Hello, a wave equals Good-bye, and hands lined up in a prayer position accompanied by a slight nod or lightly patting the place over my heart with one hand will likely be understood as thank you.
It’s the No, thanks that can be tough.
I suppose a simple or vehement shake of the head will get the point across. Adding loud expletives with fist shaking Continue reading
Seven weeks. That’s forty-nine days or one-thousand-one-hundred-seventy-six hours since my last post.
When I began blogging nearly three years ago, my intention was to post once a week with an occasional lapse only due to post adventure maladies, jelly-fish stings, or extended bouts of sea-sickness – none of which apply here.
So was it the lazy days of summer or the apocalyptic cataclysm of losing a complete Continue reading
What ho, a door in the forest? Looks harmless. Unless it opens to a land rife with
malodorous trolls, attacking arachnids, or hellacious cannibals. Or it could hold nothing but a peek into the lives of the inhabitants of a neighboring town, as in this case…
The truth about Alice Wetherby-Pimms was shrouded in obscurity since long before Horace Hornby, MHS, Ph nearly D, had been summoned to shipping magnate Roderick Pimms’ eccentric cliff top estate. Indeed, the village’s newcomer had been completely unaware of the child’s reputation for continuously causing the most dastardly of misfortunes to befall anyone who so much as graced the property with a footfall – never mind a Continue reading
Esteemed author Jane Yolen is well-known for sharing one secret in particular with regard to her productivity, and that’s – BIC – putting your Butt In Chair. Choose the time, the place, and show up. It’s where you need to be so that the muse can find you. I don’t know about you, but when someone has authored over 300 books and been called the Hans Christian Andersen of America and the Aesop of the twentieth century, I sit up and listen. My writing companion, not so much. But what does Lucy know? She sleeps on tabletops.
As writer’s, poets, artists of any kind, we also know that the muse can often be a fickle little Continue reading
A different knight’s tale…
Forsooth, ’twas an immensely sad day for the girls and me, for upon this wet and blustery day, surely a mirror of our sorrow, it has become more than apparent that our knight in plush fleece and khakis, Sir-Walks-A-Lot, and his band of merry men wooly pack of merry woofers have been banished from the serpentine trails high atop Round Hill and exiled to some far off uncharted marinian land.
The witch hunt, for that is indeed what it is best likened to, began some eleven moons ago when,
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Once upon a time, a hapless, yet terribly kindly and sympathetic King named Stephen, fortunately had a most unfortunate accident with his brilliantly bejeweled coach. Whilst traveling a country road on his way to visit an admittedly, beautifully buxomed princess who had been repeatedly proposed as potentially being the perfect complement for the unquestionably generous young royal, his overly gilted transport slipped into a ditch.
Stranded alone on the hellishly unpaved road for more than a week, the gangly ruler quickly became aware of an unsightly creature that indubitably resembled the reputedly Continue reading

While jousting jesting with Sir-Walks-a-Lot under a brilliant, vivid sky this day upon a ghill called Martin, the knight errant’s band of merry hounds pointedly raised their moist nose tips en masse to the wind. After an intense, yet brief snuffle,
Wedding bells are gonna chime very soon, so on the way to shop for my dress I dropped to my knees (well, not really), looked up to the heavens to plead to the goddess-of-formal-wear for a speedy find (yes, actually), and was immediately greeted by this stunning sight in the rotunda of a well-known downtown department store where I do not typically shop.
The sheer beauty of this massive stained glass cupola shivered me timbers enough that it made me want to abandon the dress mission and lay down on the white, polished marble floor to watch the sunlight play upon the ship’s lightly bowed sails and spin a yarn about a young lad named Bartholomew who had been thrown into the rank, smoky bowels of a pirate ship after being shanghaied
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