It’s the time of Hunter’s Moon— How seductively it glows; A raven whispers come out soon As a wicked west wind blows. I can’t resist adventure’s song; Primal craving’s growing bold… I don’t care if it all goes wrong— Let the decadence unfold!
I would be most pleased and honored if you could put on your traveling pants today and visit my friend Jeff’s blog, where he features my new poem “The Butterfly Poet.” This piece was inspired by a selection from Jeff’s wonderful poetry book Nature Speaks of Love and Sorrow.
Next on the travel agenda is a trip over to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, where I am continuing the Dream Interpretation series. Today’s post discusses the various possible meanings of driving dreams.
Bon voyage, wear plenty of sunscreen, and don’t forget to stay hydrated!
I’m not a fan of lumping, Illustrated by the trend Of dividing people into groups, As a means to an end. We seek to ever simplify This crazy world of ours, But we’re much more complicated Than bumblebees or flowers. Dumb, smart, right, left… Lumping fosters hate, But I see it all the time From those who seek “debate.” What about good v evil? Well, most humans are a mix And can’t be neatly labeled By a rhetorician’s tricks. Lumpy mashed potatoes? Everyone says ewwww! So quit sorting us like that To make life easier for you. Embrace the vast complexity Of the wondrous human mind; Stop stuffing us into boxes— Be tolerant and kind!*
She was confused when she opened the letter addressed to her recently deceased father. Apparently, he’d been served with a lawsuit by the board of directors of the necromancy club for not being a real wizard and the judge had ruled in their favor. Her father had been banned from the club!
Vanessa had noticed her father faltering at times lately and using a few illusions to make up for it, but she’d attributed that to his ongoing health issues, along with grief over her mother’s desertion, both of which had sadly caused his early death at the age of 54. Even wizards weren’t immune from heart disease and heartbreak. But surely most of his show had been real. Hadn’t it?
Vanessa ran to her father’s study, breaking open the locked door with a mental image of a bull, and began rummaging through his desk. She picked up his favorite fountain pen and received a clear picture of him in pain, clutching his chest and gazing at a photo of her mother. She flung down the pen as if it were a serpent and resumed her task. Aha! Here was the original lawsuit, accompanied by a thick ream of exhibits, documenting instances of what they called “malicious and fraudulent deception to fool the audience and steal glory from real magicians.”
Tears trickled from her eyes as she collapsed into her father’s worn chair. Surely, the board was wrong! They’d accused him of having no magic whatsoever, and that simply could not be true. Vanessa recalled her mother saying the same thing when she’d left them to go live with the coven last year, and her father had explained that she was just angry because he hadn’t become as successful as they’d planned. But what if her mother had been right?
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with muggles! You’ve lost your magic! Vanessa remembered the hateful words her mother had spewed the night she ran off, while her father had stood there silently. Until today, Vanessa hadn’t considered that there was no response. She recalled the times when she wondered why her father was using marked cards and hoaxes instead of spells, and now she realized the magic had disappeared for him. But her mother had been wrong about one thing: Vanessa was no muggle.
She began to devise a plan to get even with her mother, the coven, and the nasty board of directors. She’d devise particularly cruel revenge for every necromancer whose name appeared on that complaint. And the judge! It would all be done in secret, however, for Vanessa intended to use ancient wizadry, not parlor tricks, in order to inflict the most misery upon the people who had ruined her father’s life. Magic was her legacy, as well as her curse, and she hadn’t called upon it much until now. They would all be sorry!
Dr. Tanya continues her #5Things series by asking for our most unputdownable books. My tastes have changed in this regard. When I was younger, I found it hard to put down a compelling romance novel, but these days I’m more inclined to get totally absorbed in a mystery/suspense type book.
1. The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen Woodiwiss. It wouldn’t be fair not to mention that I stayed up all night when I was 14 to finish this romance. Nowadays it makes me cringe though due to its rapey nature.
2. Faking It by Jennifer Crusie. Welcome to Temptation was the first Crusie romance I read, and it motivated me to begin writing my own, but Faking It remains my favorite of hers.
3. South on Highland by Liana Maeby held my attention from start to finish. I have a review of it here.
4. The Arrangement by Kiersten Modglin. This is a crazy, twisty suspense novel that grabbed me from page one.
5. Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. Wow, what a fabulous sci-fi novel. Science fiction isn’t my go-to genre, but when it’s good, it’s really good!
Here’s the thing though. These grabby, fun books I gulp down like mental candy aren’t necessarily my favorite reads. I prefer more philosophical writing, where I read at a slower pace to absorb ideas, and even put down the book for a while to ponder the meaning of life or whatever. But sometimes I just want candy.
The whisper of a cool breeze reminds me that sultry summer dreams are coming to an end. I welcome brown sugar oatmeal, crisp apple days, and cozy blanket snuggles. My cup overflows with the pumpkin spice of life.
The evening feelsenchanted, with a glorious sunset, a full moon, and possibilities glowing on the horizon.
Nights this magnificent materialize with the expectation that anything might happen ~ a spark, a flame, an explosion ~ and her whole world could change, even on this routine bike ride with her trusty canine companion.
A refugee from fate, she stares at the stars and wonders if they’re finally arranged in just the right order to lure her back into the game, but all she sees are puzzlesthat she no longer has the skill to solve.
As they pass a familiar hill, a kaleidoscope of images swirls across her mind screen and she begins to feel dysfunctional, lacking any ability to make sense of her past or sort out her future ~ what is this madness called life anyway, she ponders.
“Woof,” barks Tarot, forcing her back into the moment, and she retrieves a poop bag from the roll in her backpack, grateful that paying attention to this basic necessity has terminated her philosophical gyrations.
As they head home, she considers the idea of stopping for an ice cream, but there are so many choices ~ Decadent Fudge Swirl, Salted Caramel Bliss, Strawberry Dreamboat, etc. ~ that she passes up the treat altogether before she trips into a new pit of mental quicksand.