Friday, July 22, 2011

My Writing Friends~

For those who are avid writers of blogs and don't already know Magg's as we do, please pay her blog a visit, she is a wonderful writer and an old Journalspace writer of yester-year (which apparently to me holds some clout). Chuckles.

That said? in recent days I've come to think its time to celebrate blog writers with a little mention here and there with every new post. Especially the blog's of which I feel paved the way so many years ago unknowingly and into a craze.

I was on a trip from Canada to California with my family one summer when, sitting in a road side-greasy-spoon-cafe' for breakfast I read an article on the craze of Blog's in the L.A Times.
I ka-fuffled it of course, then crossed my leg over under the sticky booth with which we sat and laughed. The article was written in such a way of new revelation that it was hard not to. Did these people not know that a writing site named Journalspace had beat them to the online writing merely years before? "Humph!" I thought after reading the article, the only thing that was new about it was that someone called it 'blogging' instead of what we called it, 'journaling.'

I suppose however, like anything else, an idea grows and catches on, such as this craze over the years of blogging. And I suppose what I'm feeling tonight is that 'we' as humble journaler's have always been here, though now the numbers of which read us have changed dramatically. Do I miss it? hm..I'd lie if I said no. I think of it this way, if not for a readership why and what would inspire us to write?
Sometimes for me its hard to get to the point. I suppose if I were to explain it I would explain in the only way I know how- Like a fish swimming among a small spool of familiar others with little notice, except? we in the small spool have so much to say and so much passion for swimming, aka, writing.
And do I feel sorry for ourselves? hm...maybe a little at times, but I know with time also comes change, so much change.

Okay. Now with that off my mind...lets talk about the Lower-mainland's weather.
"Humph." What's there to talk of? any local would ask you that. From the valley here clear down to the city of Vancouver we have had no summer to speak of- and if so? for only moments and glimmers while you were in the restroom.
While we talk of the lack of summer this year we also sit back and watch the poor people in the Mid-west of the States burning up, and now eastern Canada.
It's becoming ever-so-clear these days of our choices with summer, the desire here for it falters the minute we turn on the news and see the stifling-sizzling-heat everywhere else. More and more people are with me on- if we had a choice, because I'm not shitting you when I say some of us rather choose this humdrum of a summer here with mild and cooler temps over what everyone else is experiencing in dramatic heat and record breaking temperatures.

My hope for you all is for the breeze of cool air that we have here-funnel its way over to you and cool you down~
Stay hydrated and keep cool the best way you can.
And if you like? show me pictures of summer-I'd love that.

The best to you from me~

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Chapters With My Sweet Friend, Ros.

There are times that I loath the movement of time and all that it generates in the build up and the way it passes by far too quickly, just as I have learned into my forties that, hm, little do I like chapters in life and era's, well, so much, sometimes.
I don't particularly remember my mother telling me that I would find my years through my early forties flash by me with the speed of light, nor do I remember her ever saying I would spend more time reflecting on life as much as I do.
And I do.

Frame of mind. That's all it is, I keep telling myself. Time isn't the evil after all, how I see it...its all in the frame of mind and how you see it. I wish however, I could believe my rational mind- all the time.
That said and this bullying mind that calls "time" the "evil?" I find myself also reflecting upon chapters in life, though not mine, but a dear writing friend named Ros.

There has been many paths walked with Ros, though most and all have been online, spanning a great many years and a great many chapters of our lives.
Ros, like many online writing friend's from our old writing site (Journalspace) live in other countries, though many from the United States. Neither, however, a State close enough for a cup of coffee near the Canadian Border.
Ros, lives in Kansas City, Kentucky, which I know little of that State, and imagine it far enough South for many or all of the fine folk to have a twang accent, though wrong I could be and ignorant as the few that think we here all wear plaid and live in igloo's. Ahem.

I have never met Ros in the true form, such as face to face in person. Nor have I ever talked with her on the phone, however, I do know what she looks like from pictures and know how her garden grows from her talking of it, and again- pictures.
We have passed through the years Christmas cards back and forth, where, both of us have written a little letter. Its always special when you see a hand written letter apposed to a typed letter, somehow it all seems all the more humanized.

There are things such as journey's I know of in Ros's life from reading her journal online for those many years, as there is a small, precious group of others whom have always followed her. We all know each other more than, hm, well, more than some that we know in person that we see all the time. This is a special group of people who hold the greatest amount of compassion and support I have ever met outside of my own family and closet friends here. I hold the utmost regard for each and everyone and always hope that I can be there for them as much as the many have been there for me through my travels. That said? I feel this great need to be here tonight opening my arms and gathering up each and everyone of them tightly, letting them know how much they mean to me and thanking them for not allowing me to falter, or, get lost as so many of us floundered after the loss of our dear home, Journalspace.
That too said? this post is really for Ros, dear Ros and her brave journey through her husband's cancer.

Upon entering Facebook this early evening I found a short message from Ros-
Jim had died.
My heart instantly filled for her to proportions I couldn't possibly explain. Then I had no words and wished for that split second I could find something comforting to say, but what do you say?
It would be a bit later that I would see through the strange images I was having nagging in my head. Did the image of clouds clearing for the glow of sunshine mean something?
I know, its odd, but it nagged at me like once before of someone years ago who lost a loved one. Like Ros, I hadn't ever met them in person though could see so damn clearly of things I couldn't explain.

Perhaps the knowledge of knowing the trials and tributes of one watching another, such as Ros, watching her husband go through years of cancer treatments made my mind instantly turn in motion moving pictures. We so often think of the patient and not the loved one's along side of the patient- obvious with monumental emotion.
True, you need to be fierce, well so I imagine watching and going through something so devastating with the knowing you cannot do one damn thing to change the journey, nor the future. Ros at times was just that, fierce, and when she wasn't? she knew better of it and would on occasion take to her writing and reach out, which I hope she will do in the coming days and months.

And so? I reckon time to be another chapter closed, something obviously bugging me, as much as knowing Ros is going through something I can't reach out and hug her for.
I hold fast on those crazy imagines of the parting clouds and peaking glare of the sun, for reasons of comfort and knowing all will be all right in time, that crazy time I loath as much as seeing chapters flip and fold, not just in my life but in others that mean something to me, all the while knowing I need to accept the closing of one chapter to open another.
I hope, and feel strongly for whatever reason... that Ros has only began, that the chapter is all hers to begin.
There's a hell of a lot of stickers of places she has been (or going to?) on that suitcase- I see it, as I see the path laden in the glow of the sun.
Always your friend, Denise.xo

Saturday, April 30, 2011

It's a.....

dash-in-and-dash-out. My apologies to all three of you (giggles...)

As some of you know it's ball season for my Miss Lily again, only? Rep Ball is much more demanding this year than last, which means long drives up and down the freeway to other cities to play games and tournaments (whew).And as I expel "whew!" again.. I come to realize this week between work, ball practices, and this weekends ball tournament? "whew!" almost doesn't measure up to it.However? on the bright side of things I'm all fine once I've gotten to my destination (some obscure park in Surrey or Langley)-(coughs.)

I love watching LiL and her team play ball, just as much as I enjoy getting to know the parent's on this new ball team.A nice collections of people.
We are presently playing a tournament in Surrey this weekend, an hour from our home.I like Surrey because it's always sunny, well most of time and far more than out here in the valley, least lately....We're expecting clear sky's and warm temperatures tomorrow, which, ahem, thrills us to no end,this means we'll not be in our usual state rolled up in a blanket like a sausage. Yippy!

Anyways, I have little time here and have already walked on the wild side by consuming two cups of coffee before bed.Its a ling-ling? (longgggggg) day tomorrow and I "must!" get some rest, though, little am I tired but perhaps OVER tired.
That said? I am still trying to get through reading Luanne Rice's book "The Perfect Summer." It's gripping, I only with (wish) I had more time to flop myself down and read.I think I have 25 more books of her's to catch up on, least so as I catch up with the other ladies, chortles, they're all--onto her new book, ahuh, "Silver Boat." Damn them.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Lake Walking With Mom...

The rain is hitting the tin roof in little pitter-patters, which I love.
When building our back patio and deciding to build a roof over it the suggestion of using metal instead of any other roofing material seemed at the time-hm-odd-a-little.However,years later I've come to enjoy the clatter of sound with the elements when hitting the tin roof.
Without looking out the window I know when its raining, windy, or when the temperatures are soaring with the tin roof tinging with a stretch.
Many times over I want to say ,'the old tin roof,'when thinking of writing about it.But it's not old in the sense of one's imagination and where I tend to take one's mind when writing.However, 'the old tin roof,'when thinking of it like so- takes me far and away as if I'm in an old Victorian on a farm with an old tin roof.
Interesting where the mind goes with sound, and a little run with the imagination.

Today is a hum-haw day.Meaning that the cloud cover is low across the valley and the rain is falling in no particular speed to suggest excitement.Its just droning as the morning fades into the day.
I suspect nothing of great adventure will meet me by the end of the day, either, not in light of a pending night shift I'm dwelling towards.
Not very optimistic? eh? Humph.I know.Fa-poo.I can never quite understand how others can find such beauty in a rainy day.Perhaps I'll have to find out the secret for myself.

Yesterday was 'Women's International day.' And for it I took mom out, though I was scheduled to take her out and about anyway.
We wandered about town poking around Sally-Ann's. We have these type of stores in abundance out here, for whatever reasons-I don't know.Needless to say there are of many treasures out there if one might not know unless for your poking about with interest.That said? and hands washed in the restroom of White Spot? mom and I took our hamburger, fries, and coffee's to-go and headed up towards Cultas Lake.

This time of year as I have said before is short from the most powerful feeling of calm and serene.No one's about like the hustle-bustle of tourist's in the summer.
Harrison Lake is the same.
Quiet walks along the water's edge is the avenue.Occasionally the odd dog walker and local will either greet you with a friendly hello or chatter you up while passing by, though all else is quiet.
Mom and I continued our walk along the waters edge and slowly past the campground.

Our conversation was mostly banter back and forth, and catching up.I missed going out with her last week due to covering shifts at work for sick employees and then on.
Mom usually, ahem, stops at every pillar, post, and obscure-yet, obvious piece of nature along our path.She'll bend over and scrutinize it, leaving me with a lesson on plants or small things that I might pass by on any regular day without her.
This time imparticular the conversation although light had mom enjoying her coffee and watching more so where she stepped along the path.It was myself this time that stopped abruptly with eyes scanning the environment where mom kept walking and talking as if I were still at her side.I can't tell you the countless times she had done the same to myself.I'd be well ahead of her walking and still talking to find her bent down poking at some obscure plant sprouting wings, far behind me (chuckles fondly).
This time however it was me whom stopped and her that later realized.

The lake and it's surroundings are bountiful of scenery-nature is on display.With that one can read 'nature's story' like an open book, that is if your paying enough attention.This book was wide open and told a story of a harsh blast of wind that previously whistled with thunder through the fir's along the banks of the beach and up through the forest, littering nature's debris through empty campgrounds and down to the pathway mom and I stood upon.
In this time of analyzing what the weather can do to an environment I stopped yet again to look up at a giant Fir tree.Soon both mom and I expanded our sight on numerous trees in the area. Countless times we walked among them and countless times I'm sure--I mentioned their sheer size.However? this particular time I really grasped the knowledge of their enormity, asking mom then how old some of these wind swept trees might be? Looking up mom said, "oh, maybe a hundred years old." Then she said, " oh, maybe a FEW hundred years old for some of them." Amazing I thought.In fact? my mind hurtled immediately to visions of a hundred years ago and this very place we were standing, and the photo clippings in the newspaper I once saw of Victorian dressed women and men picnicking along the beach.
Funny that, you know? I can easily imagination those days long ago and yet I can't for the life of me find the realism in it.Its as if it were a book I was once read with characters frittering about for my imagination.Or something.

At the end of the day and the end of our walk back to the small parking lot near the summer homes, I gathered with me a most brilliant piece of drift wood.Certain times of the season at the lake you can acquire great amounts of twisting drift wood before the Park's People clear it away, eventually burning it.I walked away with no guilt in the matter knowing that.

It was another nice day despite the rain that eventually fell on our walk back.The timing was,hm, actually perfect.It was if the rain God's held off just for us.
Thank you Rain God's.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Crafty Unknown Writers....Killer Ferns.

Yes, its true, the flu and cold bug is germinating through the valley communities again.Sighs.We are down a few at work thus far and expecting more to fall ill as the few sick employees that are holding out continue to work and share the bug.Ug.I'm just waiting my turn and doing my best to get lots of rest between filling shifts of the sick.Needless to say I've worked a stretch already and is, ahem, pooping out.One more day before I see two days off, in a row even~ woot!
Wild storm systems have been inundating our region for a week now-enough to spin your head.I say this because I just wouldn't be Canadian nor especially a (Bcer) without mentioning the gosh-darn-weather! Humph.
While reading random newspapers I came across an article written by Matthew Claxton.
I usually read the 'letter's section' to see what average folk have to say but, this particular time I scanned the page with which a chosen editor for the week submitted.
To be honest it was the title that drew my eye to the page "Killer Ferns."
This isn't any ole 'Killer Fern' people, but one of which the writer (Mathew) craftily created to play a role in what I consider a worthy mention of a small piece I've read in awhile.Its a must read and there for is the reason why I am adamant in sharing it with you.I guarantee you'll laugh out loud and glean as I did in the style of his writing.Kudos to Mathew for making me not only remember his piece of writing long after but "kudos" to him for being so damn crafty.
Killer ferns explain everything

Enjoy.And watch out for those-

"Killer Ferns!"

PS. I wonder if he smoked a fatty before writing this? Hm....LOL.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Comfort With My Old Friend~Poetry~

I'm in one of those moods...(just a mood actually. Nothing defined).

Every once in awhile the mood will strike me where I find comfort in allowing my thoughts to float, guide, drift, and sometimes dance, unto a place far and away.
So-- I shall begin with the first word that comes to mind,'comfort.'
Truly this is the telling feeling this eve.

Inward-outward breathing
Comfort comes in a thought
In love
And in peace
But comfort comes in a small gift
Or gifts at least
A gift of a morning full of glow
The sun peek-eth over the mountain snow
From one season to the next-a breath
A death?
A blossom to grow
Comfort comes in a groove I find
May it be short and fleeting
For the time
A happy mind
Inward-outward breathing


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Wind Carries The Whisper~

The wind carries the whispers
Do you hear them?

Faint as they are they sing out your name
Chiming out musical notes to embed in your weary heart of darkness
And into your dream
Lightly as the breeze upon your face
You shall feel the touch
Gentleness to rock you from one pillar to post
And all the love your beaten heart has ever wanted the most

The wind carries the whispers
Do you hear them?

Frail no more in your wept upon hands
The musical winds shall dry the beating pain
Come close
And listen steady
You need not dwell like you've done already

The wind carries the whispers
Do you hear them?

They call for you
Look up
Look up you must take note
For you are surrounded in sunlight and whispers of hope
Gently rocking away the pain
Wings to engulf you
For you lay far to long crippled and slain
Feel that you are not alone
The understanding winds no longer chill you to the bone
Come close my dear~
And listen close~

The wind carries the whispers~
Do you hear them?

Dee.April 9/2004

Monday, February 14, 2011

Edited: Sunday,Dec,14,2003 JS Days~

Something I wrote long ago when I belonged to one of the first blogging sites-Journalspace.

It reads a top of the page: As requested.To keep it going.

~She Waits~

The rain has stopped it's redundant cries.
The cold has become bitter sweet.
Fluffy clouds cast over the ancient stone castle.
Billows of perfectly shaped snowflakes tumble from the sky.
She waits..

Her slender piano fingers no longer fix themselves against the window pain.
They lay carefully folded in her lap.
She gazes out to another season in awe and bewilderment.
The snow has always struck her as a holy event.
A mystical form of sunshine to lighten the miles of path she no longer takes.
A guiding hand of some sorts to bring lightness into her soul.
A pinnacle reason to look forward at mornings break.
A time she can reflect, a time she can remember.
A time she waits..

The old servant of the manor brings her food she denies.
A claim of no hunger, a claim of no desire.
A claim, merely a claim, and it sits, silver tray of 100 years, tattered with time,
used by many, left to sit as she waits...

She brings her weary hands up to unlatch the old rusted metal switch on her small pained bedroom window.
A long steady squeak ensues, as a gust of frigid cold bites at her delicate face.
She gasp's and takes in the clean air like if she was on her last breath.
Her head buzzes with blatant newness.
She ponders a change, and with that a sudden fear surrounds her heart.Picks at her soul, and crumples her hopes.
Alone is all she knows.
Alone is all she has.
Alone is what she chose.
Here she will wait...

The piano hums in the distance again.
Haunting her with sad melodies of time gone by.
Of time she hoped for.
The dark cold walls go on forever,through miles of corridor, and long red carpet to nowhere.
End it her mind screams out!!!
And she reaches up once more.
Her delicate arm reaching, as she lightly pulls the small pained window shut, and latches the old rusted lock, five floors up, an eternity away.
She lets out a sigh, a restless day.
And she waits...

The smoldering fire that is hidden so well, burns low.
The flicker from now and then sends her mind on a mystical tour.
The enchantment of a faith, a renewal, a reunion burns steady in her will to exceed another day.
She brings her hand up to her soft, pale cheek.
Runs it down to her lightly painted lips.
Remembrance of the sweetness, of the tenderness.
The love.
And she waits....



So many years have passed since I've written like this.Many times over I tried in vain in going back to that time and find myself again,imagining with my minds eye and dancing through places all of my own.

I had thought I lost all my scrolling's of yester-year when Journalspace died.
Not so long ago I found nestled in an antique dresser of mine-page upon page of typed out neatly of various encounters with my old writing.Somewhere along the line I must have (after all) copied some of my past from the computer, though it looks as I'm missing a few pages that rightfully belong to certain stories/poems.

That said? I do not declare that my journey with this style of writing was any good.Personally I think my readers of the time rather hear of my day, funny as it would unravel at times.Still though? I rather liked at times losing myself in the magic of which takes one away to another land.
And from that I have once again found me.Different of course, but a piece of me scrolled and weaved onto pages that I will share once again.

To all with love~ Dee~

Saturday, January 29, 2011


Its pretty amazing how I've been bitten by the bug to write again.It feels good.
I've been out of the groove for so long while others have picked up and carried on after the crash of Journalspace-I envied that-wanted that so badly for myself, and now here I am, albeit a small audience this time round, but one's that I am glad to have found me on this journey of recapturing my old blog name back. I am once again and always will be Silentwhisper from the block.Coughs and chuckles....
Glad to be here.

Miss L (my daughter) can't find the mouse for the living room computer.
She's short from crazed while I hog this one mouse that rightfully is my own.
I suppose I'll cave in soon though, and unplug my mouth -mouth? I mean mouse- and hand it over.However, her head isn't spinning yet and, well, I think she's forgotten all about the old fashioned way of communicating to her friends - the t-e-l-e-p-h-o-n-e.Humph.

I'm uncertain what to do on this day off of work.I'm usually working.
Relaxing today comes to mind, which I'm doing, though, hm, my inner voice keeps pestering me to not waste the day and get on with it.I only wish it wasn't raining.Not that the rain ever kept me from things, but, its that kind of rain here that one becomes wet in seconds and damp.I hate feeling damp.

The thought of heading over to the Home Show is an option.However, that might ensue in me another home project, of which I'm not so certain I want to embark on right now.Things seen cozy enough here already, minus the demo of my palace-my bedroom.Quiet reading isn't the same in there, not yet that is.

I have a great yearning to visit Vancouver again ( my home city )originally that is, and visit all the places I used to go through my childhood and through my twenties.
I miss Granville Island and almost forgot all about the place until Bif mentioned it.I spent a great deal of time there shopping and site seeing way back when.In fact? when mom&dad still lived out there and I lived in Surrey I would take my first born with mom and I to Granville Island quite a bit.

Yale Town is another place I frequented.I worked in Yale Town at J.Collins Furniture Gallery some many years ago before Yale Town became the trendy place it is now-so I hear.
I remember bouncing between both J.Collin's stores;the Burnaby one and the new Yale Town one.There was this dark-whole-in-the-wall- greasy spoon up the street where you could get good Chinese food really cheap.I'd go there least of all once a week.
Soon after that a neat coffee house arrived where you could get whipping cream on your coffee.Sometimes I would get hot chocolate with fresh raspberries and whipping cream.Yum.
I suppose in the long run I'm pretty honoured I got to experience Yale Town at its beginning.I wonder what it looks like now.

About Vancouver back in the late eighties there was one night club you wanted to be at - the Metro.The night club was huge! I mean huge! All kinds of local talent dawned the stage there, such as Headpins, Prism, and many more.
I met my husband there. It was the year of the Vancouver Expo of which? I worked at from day one to day close - I was nineteen. Yes.The math of that sucks.Although? this small vessel that moves my soul about is only that, a small vessel, my mind is more times than not, ahem, youthful.

That said? Miss L. is getting anxious to use my computer.I guess her and her father will stop taking the mouse from the living room computer to use on the laptop, which isn't here, soon enough.Tsk.Tsk.
I should start my day. Late I am. Lazy I am.

Happy day to you:)

Saturday, January 8, 2011

And So We Walk Again.The JS Crew.

All of the magic of which you need that possesses a desire to sit and physically write comes entwined with great passion, and happiness.Of that?...I embrace tonight.

It seemed not so long ago I received a Christmas card all the way from Kansas city from my dear friend Roslyn.Ironically her Christmas card to me was very similar to the Christmas card I sent her.Both cards were beautiful in their own right, though exempt of any colour.Both, ironically? are of almost the same image in black and white, or might I say gray tones.Both the images although different slightly, have the same view down a quiet forested road.It is the glitter that attracted me to my chosen card this year, outside of the calm and quiet feel the card gave me.
Ros's card also ensues the same glitter and calmness, and view.
If I were a guessing girl? I'd say that both Ros and I were on the same mind frame this year.Or? Hm..Ros ran out after and chose a card so very similar to mine to pay me with a deep warm smile.Either way the cards have brought to me sweet joy.

And so while I have slowly packed up all the Christmas decorations and since put away all the Christmas cards received,I have held out on one last Christmas card, Ros's.
Here near me and the computer it faces me.Inside a note in her hand writing;
I am waiting around to take a walk with you in this beautiful snow.
I won't tell a lie that I didn't at least once run my hand over her handwriting- as if to feel the real person behind the blog and journal writing, of that a spam of nearly six years or more.

So---If you read this Roslyn, thank you for your thoughts and this lovely Christmas card.Joy it brought me.

And so..I haven't taken my Christmas lights down inside nor outside yet.Twinkling colored lights bring me much happiness,and that I feel I rather prolong the mood.
Besides, we haven't really had a good winter with snow here yet.And I have every hope to see snow in BC to encompass the coloured lights outside of my home.
That said? today was the day the snow finally came.I was at work when it began, and I could hardly keep my self calm while I had the occasional out burst of excitement when the rain let up to bring a brief showing of snow.Although brief the spells were.
By evening the rain clouds blackened the night.I was bummed to hear miles up the freeway others were experiencing a winter wonderland.I gathered the valley here which is usually colder that Vancouver,was experiencing a warm pocket, a degree up from the other 7pm tonight brought to us what others were experiencing, snow, glorious snow.

My hope now is? that the snow will come and stick enough to muffle the little city noises.Nothing is more pleasurable than walking in the evening through the snow and only hearing the crunch that your feet make on the snow.And? the way snow illuminate the darkness of the night.

I just took a peek outside and to my utter amazement everything outside is beautifully covered in snow.Soon the time for that walk will be upon us.

Just like all the other 'written walks of the past' Oh, many years ago on a little site called Journalspace.

The coffee is perked.The bottle of Bailey's tilted ever so slightly into the mug brings a sweetness that excludes any one person's usual amount of heaping sugar.
That said a role call for winter attire is in check.Boots-scarf-mitts-dog-and friends.Yes.Best of all 'friends.'

I once wrote of a walk many years ago where with a wave of my hand upon the keyboard we all went on a virtual walk.One by one I picked up one fellow writer after another from one virtual minded house to another, up and down streets and half across some unknown town.This is no different, just long awaited.

It is wintry white out with only the moon to light my path along this deserted road.The forest on either side doesn't bring shadows creeping along the edge and through the trees but,tiny dancers sprinkling fairy dust all over the snow.
Following the old wooden fence to my right that hugs the road I see from the corner of my eye a small gray rabbit.I call out "Angel," to my golden retriever who has spotted the rabbit and is nearing it."Come," is all I say, and she heeds my tone and returns to my side.

A quick yelp came a second later, which came from myself in surprise to a snow owl that swept across the road in front of me and up through the snowy fir trees.
Gaining my balance and the half cup of coffee I now had left, I continued along with Angel.Might I add she was yards ahead me at this point and sashaying her tail from side to side in a bounty of happiness and freedom.

The snow on the road was a little higher than my ankle,though deeper so through the trees.Everything sparkled across the land.What light drew from the moon brought up from the snow a reflection of a hundred million sparkling lights blinking up at me;I couldn't not smile with great pleasure.
My full cup of coffee became half a cup then became empty.With a light grip through the handle I swung it back and forth with a nice feeling of calm and tranquility.

I came upon a large metal gate.Two paths branched off from either side of the road, I could take one or the other, but, because I'm partial to anything that affects the heart I took what was nearest to my heart, the left path.

Angel, my nine year old Goldie,scampered up behind me in a pace of excited adventure.
She scooted ahead and ran up into a snowy bank along the road and threw herself in the snowy bank,slithering on her side,pumping her legs with friskiness,and making herself look encreditably silly,evoking within me a burst of laughter.

"Come on you silly head!" I said to Angel.Soon she came to her senses and regained a steady pace along side of me.You'd had thought she had a shot of bailey's herself.Silly dog.

We came through thick trees along the path, then, virtually, we came out to a meadow.
I imagined it at spring, more over in the summer,what with its knee high wild grasses and the abundant sea of white from wild daises bending in the summers heat."Ah.." What was here now? was neither of those images,though presteen nonetheless.
No wild unicorns came to greet us.Nor did we have short little lepercons come out from under the bridge that we walked over, but, (smiles) at the edge of the meadow came another gate- behind it a parking lot-and-standing there various shapes of silhouettes of people.

The dog trotted ahead in full greeting.As I came closer the snow, muffled, voices came clearer.Through the cold night air I could smell fresh coffee,camping coffee,and familiar voices.I could see Angel doing circles around one ladies legs in excitement,the lady bending down in efforts to pat the dog through her chuckles.
This was Ros,I could see her clearer now,recognizing that scarf I knit her many years ago.
Not far from Ros and my crazy dog was two women leaning against the tail gate of a pick up truck, steam coming from their mouths from easy conversation and,steam coming up from their mugs.
Nearing the gate the two silhouettes by the truck defined who the two women were;
Kate and Westy.

Angel whooped up her barking, circling Ros like a mad hadder.Angel generally doesn't bark, though only in greeting,this being a loud and boisterous greeting, making various other silhouettes in the parking lot take notice.
There,walking over to Kate and Westy was Bobby and Scribbler, Summerwind,though she looked chilled,and,Ronney.

Joy bubbled up in me when I came nearer to the lightly lit parking lot.The thought aroused me in a quiet giggle of an image of myself running in circles, likewise to the dog, in excitement.
My walk was fast and steady and before you know it I was upon Ros first, hugging her fiercely, the dog getting all excited all over again.Hooking our arms through one another, Ros and I sauntered through the snow over to the crowd near the pick up truck.
Gales of greetings permeated the night air setting the quiet, muffled, night air alive.Laughter ensued and fresh coffee was poured to everyone's divine pleasure.
Nothing could beat this very moment of bliss-nothing at all.Warm hearts and really great people would make for a perfect night.Now all was left was the walk we all would do together.

The sound of the gate creaking open in its frozen state signified our entrance back to the meadow.One by one everyone walked through the gate,single file.
The snow muffled our voices some but who was closest I could hear clearly.
We all walked through the snow with the greatest pleasure of being all but one with one another, linking mind, body and soul.We are a unique group of people, though sharing the same passion, we find in our walk that we all hold different aspects on life, sharing them being the greatest of gifts.

Angel runs ahead in break neck speeds.She sees something bordering the meadow in the trees.I call out to her but she's so far ahead and nearly out of sight.No worries though, I thought, she most likely saw a ground squirrel.The squirrel will win and out run her.

Ros see's it first and lets out a "wow..." in a long breath. The rest of us unlock our conversations and also look up.Right there before our eyes at the edge of the meadow a horse stands, a white horse at that, which was nearly lost in the white of the snow.
"How did that?"
"Where did that?" Horse come from,I thought.There were no ranches or farms passed when I came through here.In fact? there simply were no horses!

The group of us were quiet.Evidently trying to take in the view of this horse.
Course, upon closer inspection,though giving the horse some distance, this was no ordinary horse.Well, not with that horn on its head it wasn't.
Ros was the first to break the silence by saying, "I either need new glasses or I'll be damned if I don't see a unicorn! Better yet? maybe I had too much Bailey's plopped in my coffee!"
A couple of chuckles came from the group, as we contemplated getting closer.None of us moved however, because suddenly the unicorn, if you want to call it, reared up and vanished.

"Whoa!" Westy said.And we all shook our heads and tried to clear our minds as we continued to walk and talk of what we just seen.No one really believed, or admitted fully that,the horse had a horn at all.

Angel came romping up out of nowhere. I thought it strange that she hadn't come up upon the horse and barked her crazy ass off, but she hadn't.Neverthless my mind was back with the group and we all were a clambering in on a new topic.

Coming up to the little bridge I was once over earlier with Angel,a quick glint of something glittery caught my eye and was gone.
Hm..strange I thought and moved on up and over the bridge.No one else mentioned it so I must have imagined it, so at least I thought.But, not letting it go I looked back over my shoulder at the little bridge, everyone else walking ahead.A light I saw, like the tiniest sparkler on a stick, the kind you can get at Halloween where you can wave it around in the air making streaks of light go in different shapes.Yes, that's what it was,er, I think.

It was Ros that broke me out of my trance.Hooking her arm through mine all motherly like she said,"what's wrong, my dear?" Before I could answer I heard Kate's voice pierce the night air."Oh, my God, did you see that?"
Everyone did and they came running back down the path.

By now there was quite a little show happening underneath the bridge.The tiniest sparklers in the hundreds skittered over the frozen pond.
At the edge of the pond Angel leaned down sniffing to beat Betsy.
A hush fell over all of us as we stared down trying to make out exactly what we were seeing, hardly able to believe our eyes.

"Are those wings?" Ronnie who broke the silence said.

Kate chimed in and asked if those were ice skates on their feet?

Ros,chuckled suddenly, waving her hand in front of her trying to measure her distance from what she believed now was way--far too much Bailey's put in her coffee.

"You got to be kidding!" Bobby said."Are those umbrella's their holding over their heads?"

Quite frankly I didn't know what to think,I just stared with the rest of them.

Suddenly Angel let out an abrupt bark and all that danced on the frozen pond vanished,seemingly into thin air.
The whole group started talking all at once,walking in circles and bumping in to one another, trying to rationalize things.

"Those were frogs,right?" Scribbler said.

"Um, no, I don't think so, Westy remarked.They looked like fairies."

Everyone laughed at that.The only rational was none.Other than it being a magical night of sorts.
The creaky gate came to mind.When I turned back after coming through it earlier I could have I sworn a shimmy of light came off of it.Although I was too excited to pay it any nevermind.
I did hear however, from an old timer who lived far back on the hill that a particular gate near a meadow had a unique gift of power.He's such a story teller that I brushed it off.Course, now in hindsight? it wasn't the magic leaving through the gate one experienced, but of the magic one would experience upon entering.Could this be what he meant? Hm.I pondered this while we all single filed out the gate to the parking lot.

(((Nay.))) We heard in the distance.Then a muffled ((snort.))
Ros abruptly threw out her thermos of coffee,and the rest of us laughed and hugged one another good bye.

There's lots to write,Scrib said in parting.

"Indeed," I said.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Thanks Westy...

For finding me.

It was time to go back to the old name.Lonely it was in that other blog.

I like this blog actually. I've done a fine job thus far, if I may go as far as saying.
It not only feels new, but a little lived in already.Naturally of course,I've been here working on it for a spell now,so, hm, lived in it is, a bit.

I love this new editor, its so easy.I've been quite engrossed in watching the changes, whether its back and forth changes or,full steam ahead saving, I love it.

That said? Hm...still its a work in progress.Although? a happy change and progress into the new year.

Peace and out for now.