Chapter One
A YOUNG BOY WATCHED FROM BEHIND A TREE. He eyed his prey with skill and knowledge. To him, these two went together hand-in-hand as a bow and an arrow. The prey, a beautiful snow stag, was standing between two oak trees. It rubbed its antlers against one of the trees and then shook its head.
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Bring, bring. Bring bring.
My phone was ringing, interrupting my slumber. I groaned softly and reached my arm over to grab it from my bedside window. A glance at the screen told me it was Jenna. I tried to clear my throat before answering it, but it didn’t do much good. I still sounded like a croaky bullfrog.
“Hello?”
“Oh, sorry, did I wake you up?” Her apology confirmed the condition of my voice.
“Yes. I’m still in bed.”
“Sorry, did you want me to ring later?”
Chapter One
“What do you remember about the accident?”
I stare past the police woman’s face, the stern set of her mouth and the hardness in her eyes. The woman who introduced herself to me as Sandy last night, I focus on her instead. The soft smile, the round cheeks laced with sympathy. I tap my fingers against the starchy cotton of the hospital sheet and shake my head to clear it.
“I don’t remember anything.”
“Nothing?” Her tone is disbelieving.
“Do you think I’m lying?”
To paraphrase Christian author G. K. Chesterton, although it is common for modern intellectuals to insist morality is different in every era of history and to every individual, such a phrase is completely meaningless. But the antithesis of such a statement would be the politically incorrect belief that morality is the same to every individual regardless of culture, era or circumstance.
Of course, the antithesis of THAT would be that there are no antitheses.
The ghost of you hovers
Ever present
And even when the wind
Sweeps you away
You come back again
Haunting me
***
Giving into the normality of your generation,
A guilty pleasure that won't stop taunting you,
Can't give into the crazy reality of your generation,
A guilty pleasure that keeps you glued,
Click again and your giving into your generation,
A guilty pleasure which makes you feel just like them,
Keep giving into your brain-washed generation,
A guilty pleasure that you refuse to condemn,
Forest Song
Flowers down the mountainside,
Fire on the horizon.
Lupines thick as a waterfall,
Clouds as hued as heaven.
Purple clouds of majesty,
Yellow laughing levity,
Orange streaks of bubbling exuberance,
Pink puffs of winsome effulgence,
And a deep blue sky reaching overhead,
Softly putting the sun to bed.
Lupines in the moonlight,
Pale as snow.
On a new moon night,
The stars are aglow
In clusters made of a million gems
That wink at the rising of the sun again.
A Contemplation
I haven't the faintest notion
Why some people live in the snow.
I can't, in my wildest dreams,
Imagine life without trails to go.
But then, I suppose it is fair
To never of others demand
Comprehension, when I am unhappy
With no pencil in my hand.
Art of Nature
branches of willow leaves brush the water
disturbing the pristine reflection
the ripples swirl
watercolors into motion
that settle into a mirror of glass
Finally, it comes
and I can breathe again
even with the world crashing around me
and terror towering above.
Clarity of sky brings clarity of mind - take it away:
the lovely blue sky
fading at the edge
and then the sun, pure pure white
and blazing with all the colors in the universe - let me forget,
let my thoughts fuzz around the edges like bad reception.
I love the brilliance
but right now I am happy to let it rain
with the soft water grazing my cheeks and tickling the roots of my hair.
It's almost done now
After discovering that Bart was still alive—more or less—Han ordered the soldiers now under his command, to bind mine and Wulv's wrists. He didn't say to tighten them like a constrictor snake, but his men seemed eager to go above and beyond. I was already losing feeling in my fingers by the time the knot was tied.
Six soldiers arranged themselves to carry their former captain. I didn't think it was a good idea to mention the stretcher I'd sent Craigin to make.
Han faced me and promptly slapped my face. “Where are you companions?”
He was stunned - the stranger in front of him looked exactly like the woman he'd been dreaming about.
"Wileen?" He asked, unsure if she was real.
"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. My name's Joan."
He stepped back, confused. This was Wileen. This had to be her. She said she was going to meet him in the waking world today. She promised. And Wileen never broke her promises...
At least, not the ones she made to other people.