Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem:
There’s not a leaf that falls upon the ground
But holds some joy of silence or of sound,
Some spirits begotten of a summer dream.
~ Laman Blanchard.
Joy of silence or sound
Flood the skies
Darker—still darker! the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air:
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!
You may trace its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid wheels where’er they dart,
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow.
~ William Cullen Bryant.
From the eyes of the angels
Come and look,
See those dewdrops,
Dripping from that silver thread?
See it glisten,
How they sparkle.
Those come from the eyes of the angels…
~ Staytom.
Blue Iris
“What’s that you’re doing?” whispers the wind, pausing
in a heap just outside the window.
Give me a little time, I say back to its staring, silver face.
It doesn’t happen all of a sudden, you know.
“Doesn’t it?” says the wind, and breaks open,
releasing distillation of blue iris.
And my heart panics not to be, as I long to be,
the empty, waiting, pure, speechless receptacle.
~ Mary Oliver.
Misfortune Annie and the Voodoo Curse
Book 2 in the Misfortune Annie series is now available in paperback and ebook. Yeehaw!
A supernatural curse.
A vicious voodoo mage.
The Idol of the Necropolis.
When Misfortune Annie’s fellow Secret Service agent is seen torching his family’s plantation, Annie knows black magic is afoot. Rumor has it a cruel voodoo sorcerer has returned to New Orleans to locate the ill-famed Idol of the Necropolis—an artifact that can raise the dead.
Annie and her Cheyenne friend Wontoa are sent to track down their partner and break the voodoo curse. It won’t be easy. The swamps surrounding the mage’s temple crawl with man-eaters and the supernatural, and if the fiend gets his clutches on the Idol of the Necropolis, Annie will need more than her quick draw to make it out alive!
At Dawn
Are not the forest fringes wet
With tears? Is not the voice of all regret
Breaking out of the dark earth’s heart?
She too, she too, has loved and lost; and though
She turned last night in disdain
Away from the sunset-embers,
From her soul she can never depart;
She can never depart from her pain.
Vainly she strives to forget;
Beautiful in her woe,
She awakes in the dawn and remembers.
~ Alfred Noyes
Stop and smell the roses
You got to stop and smell the roses
You’ve got to count your many blessings everyday
You’re gonna find your way to heaven is a rough and rocky road
If you don’t stop and smell the roses along the way
~ Carl Severinsen and Mac Davis, songwriters.
Press’d by the Moon
Press’d by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
But o’er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
The wild blast, rising from the Western cave…
~ Charlotte Smith
It Takes Courage to be a Writer
I glory in tales of heroes and heroines, those who risk everything to gain or protect their passion, whether it’s love, conquering new planets, or righting a wrong. These stories resonate in my heart–I pray they always will.
In The Green Hills of Earth, a short story by Robert A. Heinlein, “Noisy” Rhysling, a blind and dying balladeer is catching rides back to Earth where he wants to be laid to rest. Yet he sacrifices himself to repair a malfunctioning space ship. His final song, before he dies…
…harsh bright soil of Luna –
Out ride the sons of Terra,
Far drives the thundering jet –
Saturn’s rainbow rings –
the frozen night of Titan –
We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth.
Then there are Batty’s final words in Blade Runner:
“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I’ve watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.”
Yes, Batty is the “bad guy,” but at that moment he’s captured his life as neatly as the pair of doves he holds in his hands. And he is transformed, as is Dekker, the “good guy.” Both want to experience “things you people wouldn’t believe.”
It takes courage to set emotions to paper and perseverance to claim the tale. It takes courage to be a writer. We might not wear armor and carry swords, but then again, I have traveled through space, danced on moons, and won the battle of battles. I’ve traveled back in time and flown P-51s. I’ve risked my life to save others, and I’ll do it all again tomorrow. I hope you will, too.
She Walks Alone
She walks alone against the dusky sky,
With something of the manner of a queen-
Her gesturing peaks, imperious and high;
Her snowy brow, serene.
Under her feet, a tapestry of pine;
Veiling her marble figure, purple haze,
Draped with a scarf of clouds at timber-line,
In a billowy silken maze.
~ Lew Sarett
Janet Fogg / J.R.P. Fogg 