Wordless Wednesday: American Industry

TwoFer Tuesday: Bridges

I love to walk along meandering paths, preferably by water. After living in this area for nearly five years I am still finding places and trails I didn't know existes. This is one of them...well at least parts of it. As one walks along the river, and the creek that runs parallel, several bridges are provided for crossing either. These are just two of them.

If you are interested in learning more about TwoFer Tuesdays, please visit Jonna's Life in Shelby County. According to her, "Two fer Tuesday is easy. You just have to post about a pair of photos that have a theme, like Autumn, cars, a trip. The theme can be of your choosing. The theme may be direct or implied. You must explain how they are related, if implied. You must post at least 2. If you must post more than 2, they must be in pairs."

Odd Shots On Monday: June 30th 2008

If you are interested, Odd Shots is hosted

here.

For me, odd shots do not always derive from the subject matter, but the perspective. Literally.

This is a bridge I cross on my regular walks by the river. Of course the wooden part is where I walk - physcially. However I couldn't help but wonder...what if? What if gravity were an option, not a requirement. Hence a turn of the head (and camera) to get this, yes, "Odd Shot".

Wordless Wednesday: California Fire Effects

PhotoHunt 115: Water

This week's PhotoHunt theme is water. This is a picture I took while walking along a trail near my home. It wasn't until later I realized that my focus was a wee bit off. Ahem. But I think even through the blur you can see how beautiful the Truckee River is in summer.

Wordless Wednesday: Pretty in Purple

Wordless Wednesday: From a Distance

Wordless Wednesday: Peek-A-Bloom

Shameless Self Promotion

Okay. Yep. I admit it.

I have an ego.

Check me out.

Wow. Never thought I would resort to this....but hey. If I don't, who will.

Common Ground

My attempt at writing a fable, or something like it.
Inspired by Two Word Challenge: Relax and Sanctuary
Also by Two for Tuesdays: Body and Link

Peering from my hiding place, I can see the spot, my spot. Well, it really isn’t mine per se, but I use it so often, it might as well be. Slowly I emerge, taking care to look about me for danger. I know she is here, somewhere, waiting. All I want is some peace and quiet, and a place to relax. You think the sanctuary I have now would be sufficient. But it is cold and so very lonely. I want the warmth, in fact I need it; my body craves each ray of sun that makes its way through the tangle of leaf-filled branches above.

Linking myself around each limb, I climb to my spot. I have never been a graceful climber, but I do so nonetheless, stretching, grasping, contracting, aching to receive the reward awaiting me. Ah, beautiful sunlight, its warmth cascading along my skin, making alive that had felt dead only moments before.

What? What is this? It seems I am not the only one wishing to enjoy this beautiful morning.

“I knew you would come, as you are want to do on a day such as this.”

“And I knew you would be here, as you are want to do when I come.”

“Rest easy reptile, I mean you no harm.”

“The word of your kind means little to me felinae; I sense what lurks in your heart. I see the hunger in your eyes even as you speak your soothing, subtle lies.”

By the merest twitch of a whisker the snake was able to discern the cat’s smile.

“I make no lies today. I remember the last time I underestimated your cunning.”

Slowly, deliberately, and without taking her eyes of the snake, she licked a spot on her leg where the fur was much shorter than the rest. It had been necessary to shave that section in order to place the IV and inject the anti-venom. She had spent the rest of that night in anguish as the drug only slightly reduced the constant spasms she had to endure. The next morning she awoke, glad to be alive, but still suffering as every muscle throbbed in tenderness. It had taken days before she would walk a steady gait, and even longer before her owners let her venture out into the yard alone.

“I see. So what is it then, a truce?”

Her whiskers twitched slightly more than the last time.

“Stalemate I think.”

“I wish no war here; I simply want sanctuary and sun.”

“But we are ever at odds ancient one, as our choice in prey proves.”

“Ah, that is easily remedied.”

Watching her whiskers intently, he decides to test her resolve. Flicking his tongue in order to maintain contact with her scent, he shifts positions to offer the cooler part of his body to the sun. One or two quick flicks later, he has all the information he needs. Her heart rate and breathing remain steady. There is hope.

“I propose we divide the resources available to us. You, the human cave and its ledge, I the smaller cave and this yard.”

The cat remained very still. Her silent gaze would have unnerved a lesser being, but not the serpent, as they both were gifted with infinite patience. After some time, the cat rose and stretched herself in a way that allowed him to appreciate the grace of her movements. If we were not sworn enemies, he thought, I would consider her kind with more respect, as their way is not so dissimilar than our own.

“I agree to your terms.”

“They are not terms, merely a respectful option to our dilemma.”

Eyeing him with suspicion, she began her descent to the yard below. Stopping on the lowest branch, she turned and offered the slyest of smiles.

“Listen ancient one. I agree to maintain peace, for I do not wish a conflict any more than you do…”

“However?”

“However. If I ever discover the scent of you, or any of your kind, in, on, or near my humans again, there will be war. I swear it.”

“I see. Be not concerned. My oath is bound by a code you could not understand. Just know that if I have given my word, it is thus unless you break yours first.”

In one, single motion she turned and leapt, landing gracefully upon the lawn. Walking away she purred back over her shoulder, “Artemis. My name is Artemis.”

The irony was not lost on the snake as he made his way back to his sanctuary. Artemis, goddess of the wilderness; the huntress. If snakes could smile, he would have been beaming. Curling his body into its familiar coiled shape under the shed, he waited for his next meal to come clumsily through the hole in the floor above. Sensing movement, he prepared himself to strike.

After finishing his meal, he retreated back to his place in the sun, as the warmth was always helpful in digesting his prey properly. It also allowed for thoughtful contemplation.

Oh yes, he thought, there is still more to occur between us, I know it. We are of the same nature she and I, and only the gods know which one of us is the stronger in having to repress our natural urges. Yet, there can be peace, if only we could get past our ancient prejudices. There is hope, he mused, there is always hope.

Lying there in his rapture, he did not notice a pair of eyes that watched him intently from the shadows. Artemis stared at the snake with a hint of bemusement. Can there really be peace between us? I do not trust him, but he has given the oath, and I accept it. Hope, she purred, there is always hope.

*****
Here are two very different characters, yet they are very much alike. So, for the "fable" part:

Do you rely on prejudices of others (family, friends, religious leaders, etc.)?
Or do you make you own choice to trust or like others for who they are, regardless or their race, religion, gender, etc.?
Do you seek to find the differences between you, or the similarities?
Even if you cannot see eye-to-eye on some things, can you not seek to find common ground and co-exist peacefully?

An Open Invitation

Prompt provided by BlogFriday

Please note that the door is open for a reason. The company was nice - for a while. But I’ve had enough. Please leave. My thoughts and I really need to have some privacy. Sorry to be such a downer, but this party is now over. I think you should have guessed that when I took Pity by the ear and threw her out the window. Don’t worry about her though, I live on the first floor, and she seems like one to always land on her feet. Who invited her anyway? As for Doubt and Insecurity, I think they snuck out ages ago. Come on, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they were that into each other.

Why does everyone have to stare? Oh, I see. It must be hilarious to see someone lose their mind, but it’s not so funny watching them come to their senses. Tough. Go on. There’s the door. Pride is even holding it open for you. Which I think is nice after what Inhibition said about him. Look, I’m done with being nice. Please. Leave. What open invitation? I don’t know where you got that idea, but it’s not true – at least not any more. Tomorrow, I am getting a lock for that door. Until then, you emotions will just have to grow up and realize that you can’t just go partying anywhere you want.

Whew. They’re gone. Oh, damn, look at the mess. Pride? You’re still here? Help? Why of course, I would love some. Not that I deserve it seeing as I pretty much ignored you the whole time. Well, I’m glad you stuck around. I don’t think I could do this without you. And what I said about that open invitation? It doesn’t apply to you. Not ever.

Cafe Writing: February - Option One

Another new discovery. Another way to find parts of myself that I know exist, but have yet to explore.

Inspiration is sweet when it comes; an absolute wonder to behold. But it does not always come easy, at least not to me. So when I find something like Cafe Writing, I am overjoyed and feel blessed that something so wonderful has found its way into my [writing] life.

From the site itself --
Imagine: you’re sitting in cafe, and a brilliant idea for a story, an essay, a poem - whatever - pops into your mind. You reach for your notebook, but realize you left it in the car, or at home. A napkin is handy, and you do have a pen, so you write on that, or the back of your pastry bag, or a scrap of newspaper - anything so you can keep the idea, the spark, alive.

CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Monthly projects are provided to help "capture that spark". To see this months prompts, please click here. February will be my first time visiting the cafe. I hope to become a regular customer. I am beginning with Option One.

Option One: Timed Writing
When love is not madness, it is not love.~Pedro Calderon de la Barca
Take nine minutes (you have to use all nine, you can’t go over), and write about Love and/or Madness. Any format (fiction, essay, verse) is acceptable; and it’s expected that your writing will be raw, so don’t stress about editing.

To me "raw" means freewriting, so that is what I have done. Parts of this are actually something I had been working on, stuck in my mind and on paper for quite some time. But today, I set it "free" - I let it be whatever it will be. I guess there is madness in love, or, is it the other way around? You decide.

Lucidity in Love by J.C. Montgomery

My thoughts, in silence, gather up items and forget that everything is in order. Love is the chaos structuring the intangible. So then, I ask myself, is life really so much better when left unfilled? It has so little content, yet so many words. This must be the reason we all ask why our soul is the source of so much little chitter chatter, when all the while we complain of it being empty. Unhappiness awaits the dreamer each night he sleeps. For if the indulgence needed to power thought is no longer free, then love is no longer possible. The dreamer is left with visions of the perception beneath the truth. Near the end of morning; listen. Listen for the sound of love growing. Only dreamers can hear for they listen with their hearts. They know that minds are logic and logic is oblivious. Listen. Find the fool; find yourself. The moral to the story is that there is no moral. Morality is the belief that we are in control when we are not. It is a dangerous illusion. Study, learn, live, and love. Grasp onto the knowledge that there is a splendid misery in being prepared for a mystery. Yes, being adaptable is required but not a necessity. Love will make all things possible. Hope is the inspiration; a catalyst in which one finds that beneath the chaos, its words are not hollow, that it is worth everything, that it is worth losing nothing which is what we never had in the first place.

Sunday Scribblings No. 97: Fridge Space

Inspired by Sunday Scribblings Number Ninety-Seven: Fridge Space

The Magical Magnetical Moment

Some time ago, a magnetic poetry kit found its way onto a refrigerator in a quiet suburban home. No one knew who purchased it. No one admitted to its ownership. For many days, the words stuck firmly to their assigned spots. Not one moved from where it had been placed.

Days later, there was a gathering spontaneously mustered by the magical occurrence that presented itself upon the white glossy door. They were mesmerized; magnetically attached to what was before them. The words were moved, shifted, and shuffled into a new configuration. What is this? What does it mean?

Singing beneath still visions
A sweet symphony
Whispers to the dreamer

A delicate garden of language
Springing from delirious sleep
Daylight manipulates the music

Shadows rain from above
Crushing the moment
Producing eternity

Again, they all looked to each other for acknowledgement. There was none. All remained silent. Each shook their head. No one revealed the truth.

Slowly a realization came upon them. Words are what we shape them to be. Interpretation is the real ownership. Each discovered that fridge space is not empty space. It is simply another surface, another palette available to the magic that is creativity.

Doubt is the magnet, and it is our imagination that has the power to arrange our words into coherence. This is how emptiness becomes fullness, how thought finds freedom, how words become art. This was the magical magnetical moment.

Overdrawn

I have been having quite the pity party recently. It all began when I realized that my reality check had bounced.

Not that I have never overdrawn my account before, but I usually have a fair amount of common sense stashed away in savings to cover the deficit.

Somehow I must have completely overlooked depositing that extra wad of reason I had lying around. Now, I am sitting here bewildered over my predicament.

I have always maintained a healthy balance sheet, never letting my doubts exceed the value of my wisdom. My personal net worth of sensibility has always been a source of pride and contentment.

I knew there was some unseen force lurking out there, but was arrogant enough to believe it would never affect me. I had my savings. Logically, I should have had enough intuition deposited in order to cover any unforeseen disaster. But this recession has hit me harder than I had anticipated. Or was it that I have been in denial about the ever decreasing value of rationality?

I should have known better. Why is it we always plan for the big things and completely overlook the small ones? You know, those little things which surreptitiously conspire against us until it is too late to realize that our better judgment has been nickel and dimed to death.

I know that if I cannot turn around this recession of sensibility, that I am facing a complete fiscal breakdown – a depression.

I am overdrawn, overwhelmed, and underfunded. Perhaps I can apply for a loan? I wonder what the interest rate is on perspicacity nowadays.