Once upon a no-time in a no-place, there was, is and evermore a table. This table is large and has many chairs. All around this table and chairs are Masters of a Great Game. These Masters come forward and step back as needed to fill positions in the Great Game. In this Game, the ability to pretend is essential, for here in this no-place and no-time all is Love and Light. All is harmony and oneness.
She weaved her way through the vendors on the street with an effortless grace that belied her size. Her full softly swaying hips showed off her orange and blue floral cotton dress as she moved purposefully to The Straw Market to begin her day selling the woven baskets her family made...
“Pay attention, boy! Look at me when I'm talkin' to you,” Daddy said as he slapped the chair arm with the belt from his pants. “I don't wanna hear no more talk about going to school. You eat and sleep here so's now it's time you pull your weight.”
I look at my life now and see twists and turns my journey has taken due to the choices I made along the way. There were times that I thought just to stop and not go further for the present was too painful. Then the road would open, and I could see a better tomorrow a little further up the path.
The tradition of storytelling has a long and illustrious history dating back from cavemen drawing on rocks and stone walls to portray news, warnings, or victories over obstacles all the way forward to video blogs and chat rooms on the internet. Everyone has a story.
“Papa. It is time to come in for la cena. Mama says hurry or los hijos will eat your portion.” Tomas watches his father as he wipes his hands on a rag. His padre is so slow. His brother and sister are hungry and waiting on him.
“This piece looks good enough. I'll have Michael cut it to fit that frame I found at the church sale,” Bess said to herself as she scrambled down from the scrap wood pile out back of the house. “Yes. This will do just fine. A little scrubbin' and sandin' is all it needs.”
She got out of her nearly paid off Mercedes as she closed the garage door, walked up the steps and opened the kitchen door. She placed her leather handbag on the table and sifted through the mail her husband had laid there when he came home for lunch. A blue envelope caught her eye and she noticed her company's name at the top.
It was a chilly autumn afternoon where the smell of ripe bananas filled the air along with the faint whiff of Pine-Sol in the distance. I waited my turn to leave the coziness I had become accustomed to. My friend Pepper and I were close, talking over good times but always wondering when our last moments would be. It was too much to contemplate, so we sat patiently in the dark with our unspoken dreams laying waste in the smothering atmosphere of our home. My name’s Arnold, and here’s the story of my demise. -Click the picture to read more...
Brigid hiked her skirt with one hand and carried the pail of milk with the other as she trudged up the hill to the house. Himself will be wantin' the té when she got there, if she was any judge. Good thing she had half a cake from last night. Wouldn't be long til sundown when she could finish her mending by the fire while her Papa smoked his pipe and tattled about the doings of the men at the pub. ~click to read more...