iMAGE

4:48 p.m.  A bank of billowing clouds gaze upon their blushing reflections in the cold bay below. Their bulbous figures glide silently past Mount Tam, the sleeping Miwok princess, while a tempered salty breeze drifts eastward, caressing the upper branches of a time-honored eucalyptus, releasing its fresh, tangy scent. The tree stands tall, alone, spreading its massive branches wide – a sentry guarding the western gate, the final resting place for an ancient chief’s young daughter.

It’s only a few more seconds until the top half of the blazing sun completely sinks behind the curve at the small of Tam’s back – more than enough time for the downy mist to gather at the water’s edge and glide up and over the entire length of the maiden’s reclined shape – a shape that had once been a body more alive than a rushing waterfall – a body that had been prematurely laid to rest and transformed into a sacred mountain, so long ago that no one knows the time.

Yellow. Gold. Orange. Sky redefines itself while Tam’s silken, grey shroud thickens above the deep purple outline of her supine form. The dense mist promises to keep her bones from freezing once her lover’s luminous halo has gently slipped below the horizon. Today, he leaves her with the faint pink afterglow of his love. Tam responds with a softening silhouette.

Only for a moment though.

Only until the stars twinkle their delight.

********

This week’s writing challenge is to write a ‘snapshot’ instead of taking one. How timely! If you only knew how many i-photos I take in a day. This from a person who, up until a year ago, said she only needed a cell phone for emergencies.
HA!
But not today – no pictures allowed.
I’ll have to show you the stunning sunsets  centered around
Mount Tamalpais
some other time.
Have a wonderful week!

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FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

Bells—the different types of bells and associations we make with their tolling are probably as numerous as the number of people on the planet. There’s the light, yet insistent tinkle of the come-hither-and-pour-me-a-cup-of-tea-this-instant ding—the monotonous, yet crisp clank-of-a-clapper-striking-thick-brass-accompanied-by-the-droning-fog-horn dong—the musical, multi-toned, many-belled European get-your-sorry-lazy-butt-out-of-bed-and-go-to-church clang, that also peals Continue reading

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ALAS, ‘TIS A BUMMER

wet luForsooth, ’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,  Continue reading

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BAVARIAN BLUE

The trees may be different,
but the sky is the same

Sky

Its luminous blue
sets memories aflame –
Of time spent in Bavaria Continue reading

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Bee’otch ON THE RUN

photo (9)After a recent close-encounter-of-a-wild-kind, I thought I’d ask Jazzy to guest post this week’s adventure. It took an extra biscuit and the promise of two bacon-cheese flavored beggin’ strips, but I managed to convince her. It especially seemed fitting since L. L. Bean is under the impression that she and I are the same person. So, without further ado, I turn my flashing cursor over to her:

 

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HALLOWE’EN HAUNT

Halloween moonT’is the eve before November first,
The night vampires rise to quench their thirst.
T’is the time men are shackled
to walls and beds
for fear the moonlight will burst their threads
transforming them into

Continue reading

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SUPER Duper short…

short story:

Flying

              Soaring

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365 1/4 DAYS AROUND THE SUN

Please stop what you are doing – just for a moment – while I make my way to the top of the world,

Greenland - Ice Cap

So that I may honor you, my reader –

So that I may sing YOUR praises – Continue reading

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MY SPACE

Writers write. Right? Right, but where do we write. Most of the time, I write on my lap while sitting on my sofa. Now, while this is probably not the best thing for my posture, it seems to work very well for my muse. At least until the hounds start a barkin’ and a hollerin’ for a snack, a walk, or some attention. That’s when I run away to my office, my space—the place where a writer is meant to write—a place that I’d like to share with you:

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GOBLINS, GHOULS…and OREOS?

It seems to me that every year retailers begin selling their holiday wares a month earlier than they did the year before. At the rate they are going, by 2020 we’ll be spinning dreidels and decking our halls with holly in June. If it was up to them, they’d probably have us stuffing multi-colored, creme-filled chocolate eggs, gefilte fish, and matzoh balls into the barren cavities of our Thanksgiving Turkeys too,  Continue reading

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