He was gone. For a full ten minutes there was complete silence as if his vow had been somehow transferred to every citizen of Polsax. Then, all at once, the hall exploded. People were talking louder and louder to hear each other over everyone else’ talking and Ally was pressed in on all sides.
I’m gonna write me a one word poem
It’ll be jus’ the best in the world!
Won’t take me no work
But me eyes and me head
So as I won’t be haften’
So tired as to go to bed
I’ll get some rewards
And some “complishments” too
The only thing is
I’m jus’ only two!
I dunno how to write
I dunno how to spell
I dunno how speak
Least, not very well
But me mommy says, “brillant”
Or is she just lyin’
But I want to write somethin’
{post-sermon musings on a Friday evening. The sermon was on Leviticus chapters 1-7 and 17.}
Part 1: The Wilderness, Moses’ time.
Small fingers wrapped around my hand, and I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve. “Papa,” my six-year-old son said. His big brown eyes looked up at me, filled with love and curiosity as they always were. Dark curls tumbled around his forehead. I smiled. My son looked so much like his beautiful mother.
“Papa,” he said again.
“Yes, my son?”
“Who’s there?” he asked in a low voice.
“It’s me, Lyona,” came an answer. “We’re back.”
Lyona Comora, followed by Wesley Heath and Clyde Weston, stepped silently out of the surrounding woodlands.
“Are the others back?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, we’ve all been waiting for quite a while,” Jack replied. “They’re sitting in the council room, getting impatient.
You are there, I see you.
In the corner of my eye,
In the shadow of the trees,
In the back of my mind, you linger.
A misty glimpse of what has been and what could be,
A spectre drifting in my head.
An image in the mirror that flees when I turn.
O, what haunting memories shall come before me,
Till I shall see your face again.
My dreams echo the sound of your laughter,
And every waking moment is filled with thoughts of you.
Distant, yet closely entwined is my heart to yours,
oh blue eyes
you've got no reason to cry
blue, blue
what would it be like to be you
oh blue eyes
some things i'd never try
oh brown eyes
do you know why
brown, brown
i've been left to drown
oh brown eyes
you have your own style
oh green eyes
how come you can lie
green, green
too keenly you're matching mine
oh green eyes
all surprise
blue, the sky
brown, you surmise
Frigid waves rock like a cradle.
They enfold like a sheet.
The torrents caress stilling limbs.
Her only comfort from life
the roaring swell
that she embraces, sinking deep.
Her fey mind sings its blighted tune.
She opens her arms to rest,
a place apart from violent ends
and strife.
Her dampened brow lies pale.
Lifeless lids do not wake.
She said good-night to the ladies
and bid her last
farewell.
Rynere shut her eyes and let out a scream, still not daring to move.
Several minutes later, when she dared to open her eyes again, Matthan was kneeling nearby, watching her with a small smile.
"I'm truly sorry that you actually had to travel with this man. Rest assured, you'll no longer have that burden."
Rynere was too stunned to reply.
Jogging o’er wood and dale, o'er corn-field-ed hill, passing through brush so tall, and trickling rivulets cold. Tripping o’er stumpy roots, and thumping in the road, breathing deeply in and out the springy air so cold. Strolling ‘midst grassy way feeling it by and by, picking dandelions off the stem and dozily letting them fly. Whistling far-off and unheard tunes which soar to branches aloof, singing to absent melody while swaying dreamily. Failing, falls the sun below and shadows deepen ‘round the eaves pulling out a pipe he blows puffing a misty, thoughtful haze.