Enjoy…

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Lying here without a roof,

Southern Comfort, seventy proof.

We know not what this night has in store,

As waves crash slow upon the shore.

Being with you…

Is like a breath of fresh air,

Holding hands as we talk,

Passersby without a care.

Being with you…

Makes my heart swell,

I’m punch-drunk with love—

My love, can’t you tell?

Being with you…

My soul is energized;

When I stare into your eyes,

It’s like watching the sunrise.

Time… forever escaping,

Your silken eyelids gently draping.

Whispering your favorite song,

Hold you close until the new day dawns.

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*** The Hero ***

The air at the remote outpost was thick with a choking haze of dust. A massive, rumbling long-haul livestock trailer had pulled up, its metal sides a dull silver against the arid backdrop, delivering a precious cargo. The animals—a few magnificent broodmares and their skittish foals, alongside a small herd of cows and their wobbly calves—began to emerge. Brena watched, captivated, as the ramp was lowered; for her, the slow, cautious procession of creatures stepping onto the dusty ground was a sacred, joyous spectacle, a special hand-off like the animals exiting the Ark to repopulate a new world. In a heartbeat, the rhythmic routine of the drop-off fractured into a scene of pure chaos when a calf was spooked and injured. Brena didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward the fallen animal and dropped to her knees in the gritty earth. As she ripped open her medical bag, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, she felt a cold jolt of absolute panic: her kit was stripped bare of the essential tools required to deal with this situation.

Brena wasn’t one to succumb to panic; her spirit was forged in the gritty reality of the stables. Seeing the calf in agony, its leg shattered and failing, her mind ignited with the quick thinking of a seasoned professional. She dove into her stripped-bare medical bag, raiding the last of her resources with a frantic, desperate focus. Working against the relentless ticking of the clock, she scavenged sturdy materials from the transport gear, aggressively wrestling the cold metal and nylon into a makeshift brace to stabilize the fragile limb. But the bleeding was a visceral threat. Deprived of surgical silk, Brena leaned into her trademark industrial-chic ingenuity, threading a heavy-duty needle with thick, sterile twine. Her hands, steady despite the hammering rhythm of her heart, meticulously sutured the gaping wound. In the stifling haze of the outpost, she concocted a primitive herbal wash from crushed pine needles, applying the liquid to stave off the encroaching infection. It was a breathless masterpiece of survival—an astonishing symphony of raw engineering and folk medicine at best.

By the time the actual veterinarian finally arrived at the remote site, the crisis had completely passed. The vet was relieved to find the calf already stable. Brena had pulled the animal back from the brink of death using nothing but her sheer grit and quick thinking.

*** The Showdown ***

Launa, the new manager, wasn’t an equestrian; she was a fresh Ivy League graduate with glowing recommendations. Walking around the grounds in pristine designer suits, Launa viewed the prestigious Red Oak Stables not as a home for prize athletes, but as a bloated portfolio waiting to be optimized.

Launa’s sterile, penny-pinching mandates did more than just ignite Brena’s temper; they suffocated the very spirit of the stable staff. The veteran trainers—dedicated men and women who had poured decades into Red Oak Stables—stood on the precipice of a mass exodus when she dared to slash the budgets for the essentials, including vital nutrition for the animals. Every sunrise brought a thickening tension, a palpable weight that felt like a sharp blade the moment gravel crunched beneath the wheels of Launa’s sleek, imported sedan. She would sweep past the stalls without a single glance at the majestic athletes watching her pass, her focus narrowed entirely on the cold, unfeeling ledgers waiting to be optimized in the main office.

Still vibrating with the kinetic adrenaline of the save, Brena returned to the stable grounds, her skin a canvas of dirt, blood, and hard-earned pride. Yet, as she stepped into the sterile vacuum of Launa’s office, Launa didn’t see a hero; she saw a ledger with a deficit.

“I’ve reviewed your inventory, Brena,” Launa said, tapping a spreadsheet. “You’ve used a staggering amount of specialized center resources in such a short period of time.”

“Those ‘resources’ save lives,” Brena countered, “...isn’t that what we do here!” her eyes flashing. “I saved a life today while you were counting pennies.”

To Launa, it was all about the money. The majestic, five-hundred-pound stallions were merely line items and depreciating assets.

“That stunt you pulled today at Tracy’s farm, while impressive nonetheless, you were hired to care for horses,” Launa shouted, slamming her hand on the desk, “not to play back-woods surgeon with our supplies. This is a business, Brena, not a charity!”

The confrontation was both intense and rapid. Invigorated by the successful rescue and bolstered by the presence of her coworkers observing through the office window, Brena held her ground firmly. She delivered a blunt dismissal of Launa’s data-driven management style, leaving no doubt as to what Launa can do with her spreadsheets.

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*** The Lone Star ***

The dining room table, empty save for a bowl of bright, untouched fruit at its center, felt vast. Brena sat there, her cup held tightly in both hands, drawing meager warmth from the ceramic.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told her what she could do with her damn spreadsheet,” Brena thought to herself as she stared out the window. The morning sun was barely making a show over the horizon, casting the long, stark shadow of the fruit bowl onto the weathered wood floor.

“...but she needed to hear it…” continuing her silent rant, “...she has absolutely no interest in the animals, and she certainly doesn’t understand the bond required to run the Stables.”

Now that Brena is stuck at home, the silence of the kitchen is a weight upon the floor—heavy, almost suffocating. For the first time in years, her boots are clean. Polished. Sterile. And she hates the way they shine.

She lets out a deep, quiet sigh and closes her eyes to conjure the atmosphere of the center, a place that lives in her marrow. She reaches out for the stable symphony, that rhythmic pulse that kept her heart on beat: the distinct gritty crunching beneath her boots, the low, vibrating nickers of a greeting, and the sharp clatter of buckets against stone.

In her mind, she’s still breathing in the scent that lingers, sharp alfalfa and sweet musk, warm horsehair and expensive leather. It’s a scent that smells like home, like hard work, like belonging to something bigger than herself.

Most of all, she misses Darla, her favorite steed. Red Oak Stables is named after Darla—a powerhouse with a reddish-brown coat, golden mane, and a white nose shaped like a heart—and the age-old oak on the far end of the stables where the horses like to congregate. For Brena, taking Darla out for a morning ride was characterized by a kinetic energy and a bond of absolute trust. Brena would lead Darla—now up in age—out to the open range for her daily exercise. She missed the rush and the adrenaline from riding the Thoroughbred in perfect tandem. This experience was a language without words, representing a deep and absolute trust between them.

Now, without the dirt under her fingernails and the wind rushing past her face, Brena feels adrift. Her primary identity as a certified caregiver and animal technician was tied to the rhythm of the stable, and now she feels like a rider without a mount. Drifting through a house that feels cramped beyond comprehension—far too small for a spirit used to the open range.

But Brena wasn’t one to sit still. She decided to pivot to a new dream. She figured if she could manage the complex nutritional needs of a five-hundred-pound stallion, feeding humans would be a breeze. She decided to launch a catering business. And to launch her endeavor, she invited her four closest friends—Jeffrey, Samantha, Margaret, and Marcus—to a private tasting.

*** The Fab Five ***

The doorbell chimed, and Brena smoothed her apron, her heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. As she opened the door, she was greeted with the kind of drama only true friends can provide. The first of her inner circle stepped into the warmth of the foyer: Marcus. Looking every bit the successful businessman, yet he instantly melted into a protective big brother stance. He pulled Brena into a rib-cracking hug and kissed her forehead.

“Oh, Brena. I’ve been thinking about you ever since I heard what happened,” he murmured, pulling back to look at her with deep sympathy. “To let you go after everything you’ve done for them and those animals? It’s a crime. But look at you—standing tall. We’re going to get through this. Whatever you need, you’ve got it.”

Next was Samantha, who blew in like a stylish whirlwind from her retail shop. She took Brena’s hands and gave her a double-cheek kiss in the continental style.

“Honey, I am just sick about it! Absolutely sick,” Samantha cried, her voice full of drama. “But maybe this is the universe telling you that you’re too good for that dusty stable. You have the soul of an artist, Brena. We are here to support your next chapter, no matter what it is!”

Margaret arrived with a gentle, serene presence, having survived her own share of trials with Brena by her side. She gave Brena a long, quiet squeeze. “You’ve spent years holding our hands through so much, Brena,” Margaret whispered, eyes shimmering with genuine tears. “It is our turn to hold yours. You look beautiful, by the way. Very professional girl!”

Finally, Jeffrey stepped in. Despite their romantic past, he greeted her with the easy, intimate warmth of a best friend. He kissed her hand and then gave her a quick, playful wink.

“The Fab Five back together under one roof,” Jeffrey announced. “I’ve got the wine, I’ve got the shoulder to cry on, and I’ve got a massive appetite. I heard a rumor you’ve been busy in the kitchen!”

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*** The Reveal ***

Brena leads them to the dining room, where the feast glows under the lights. They were met with a scene straight out of a cinematic dream. The dining table was a lush, multi-tiered landscape. Towering, golden pastry pyramids stood next to jewel-toned tarts that shimmered from the candlelight. It was a cornucopia of abundance, looking every bit like a professional debut.

“I figured if I could manage the complex nutritional needs of a five-hundred-pound stallion, feeding my best friends would be a breeze,” Brena announced, her face beaming with infectious hope. “Please, sit! I want you to try everything and tell me the absolute, unvarnished truth. My future depends on it!”

For years, Brena supported them through trying times in their lives. Now, she needs them.

Jeffrey, ever the enthusiast, reaches for a Savory Cloud Puff. He takes a confident, large bite. His smile immediately freezes. The puff has the structural integrity of a sun-baked brick and the distinct, overwhelming flavor of dried clover and sea salt.

The words Brena had spoken just moments ago echoed in his mind, a sharp, terrifying contrast to the brick-dry reality in his mouth. He was instantly transported back to the last time she had asked for his honest opinion.

Brena took up welding as a hobby. She had created a jagged, six-foot-tall metal sculpture and asked, “Jeffrey, be honest, does it capture the spirit of a stallion?” Jeffrey had tentatively suggested it looked more like a frightened toaster. Brena didn’t speak to him for three weeks and sent him links to How to Develop an Aesthetic Eye.

Eyes watering, Jeffrey looks at the salt-brick pastry in his hand, smiles through the pain, and says, muffled, “Mmm! It’s... it’s so... structural! I’ve never had a pastry with such... integrity before.” He swallows with a visible, painful gulp that sounds like a dry throat sucking down sandpaper.

Samantha tries a shimmering, ruby-red tart. As her teeth sink in, she realizes the crust isn’t shortbread—it’s a dense, leathery disc that tastes like unrefined bran.

Torn between “...tell me the absolute truth…” and her polished enamel, she recalls two years ago when Brena decided to sew her a dress for a high-end gallery opening. It was made of heavy-duty equestrian canvas. When Brena asked for a critique, Samantha mentioned it was a bit...stiff. Brena had burst into tears, claiming Samantha didn’t appreciate industrial-chic, and Samantha ended up wearing the canvas sack to the event just to make peace.

Samantha looks at her leathery tart and chirps, “Oh! Brena, darling! The color is just... it’s a triumph! It’s very…earthy! It reminds me of nature…of much…nature” She desperately signals Marcus under the table for more wine.

Margaret, trying to be the supportive soul she is, nibbles on a cracker topped with a beautiful herb spread. The cracker is so dry it instantly absorbs every drop of moisture in her mouth.

Remembering when Brena made her a healing tea for her post-surgery recovery, she struggled to justify her response. The tea tasted like boiled pine needles and old socks. When Margaret admitted it was strong, Brena had insisted on sitting by her bed and watching her drink the entire gallon to ensure she was fully healed.

Margaret, choking on guilt, and the dry artisan cracker, strains through a cloud of dry crumbs, “It’s...very...brave. I feel like I’m really...experiencing the grain.”

Marcus, warily looking around the table—Jeffrey is sweating, Samantha is hiding a bite in her napkin, and Margaret is drinking wine like grape juice. He looks at Brena’s hopeful, shining face and takes a piece of Honey Glazed Bread. To his surprise, it’s pleasantly sweet, but with an aftertaste of wood chips.

Brena’s words “...My future depends on it!…” hit Marcus the hardest. They’ve been friends since middle school, and he treats her like the sister he never had. He flashes back to when Brena asked to cut his hair before their junior prom. She had accidentally taken off a chunk behind his left ear. When he gasped in the mirror, Brena had simply said, “It’s a bold, asymmetrical statement, Marcus. Don’t you agree?” He spent the entire prom wearing a beanie.

Marcus now looks at the honey-glazed wood chip and says, “Brena,” his voice cracking slightly from the dryness, “This is...unforgettable. Truly. You’ve really... outdone yourself.”

“I knew it! I knew I had a knack for this.” Brena said excitedly. “I’m thinking of naming the business ‘Brena’s Boutique!’ What do you think?”

The Frightened Four exchange a look of pure, unadulterated terror. They realize they might have to eat like this for the rest of their lives to keep her happy.

As they each continued to sample the pastries. The beautiful assortment of pastries and treats was a disaster. They loved her too much to break her heart now. They offered muffled words of congratulations and bold flavors while desperately washing the food down with wine. The dinner party reached a climax of awkward silence. Then, the phone rang.

*** Saved by the bell ***

“It’s Karen…!” Brena announces with surprise. She puts the phone on speaker and sits down next to Samantha, who has a napkin pressed to her mouth, pretending to cough while she deposits a leathery tart into it. Margaret, sitting on Samantha’s right, is staring at her wine glass as if it’s the only thing keeping her alive. Marcus, at the back of the table, is mid-chew, his jaw muscles bulging as he attempts to break down a honey-glazed wood chip. Jeffrey, walking in from the restroom, takes a seat next to Brena. The Fab Five focus intently on the call.

“Brena? Brena, please tell me you’re there?” Brena’s reply is calm as ever, “Yes, Karen. I’m here. What is it?”

“Oh! Good,” Karen continues, “I just got back from New York and just found out what happened. This is just a mess to walk into and it’s all my fault.” Brena didn’t move. A slow, triumphant smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, a vindication that tasted sweeter than any successful pastry could have.

“Brena! Launa was a mistake,” Karen’s voice crackled, full of desperation. “She wasn’t even my choice. Serves me right for doing favors.”

Brena’s eyes flicked to Marcus, who was now clutching his chest in silent, dramatic gratitude. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

“I heard about the calf over at Tracy’s, Brena. Brilliant work. More to the point, Launa has been let go, and I want you back—not as a caregiver, but as my new manager”.

Brena looked at her friends. They were all frozen, pieces of inedible pastry halfway to their mouths, their eyes pleading with her to say yes.

“Thank you, Karen, I will have to think about it.”

“Please do,” said Karen, “everyone is on edge, and we miss you dearly.”

Brena hung up the phone and stood in front of the group. “Do you really think I should take it?”

“YES!!!”

They shouted in one accord, the relief nearly blowing the candles out. Brena laughed and pulled them all into a group hug. “Thank you guys…I’m so happy!” Her joy was infectious, shining brighter than the chandelier above the dining table.

“To celebrate, I’m going to go back into the kitchen and whip up my signature dish! I’ve been saving the best for last”.

Her declaration about the kitchen instantly sent a wave of fresh terror through the Frightened Four. They had just been saved from a fate of industrial-chic pastry, and now the threat of her signature dish loomed.

In one accord, they all reached for her and shouted…

“NO!!!”

*** The End ***

I hope you liked my little story.. Please leave a comment, and share.

This Piece explores that quiet, physical yearning. It’s about the way memory becomes a tactile thing—a clinking spoon or a faint scent on a wet window pane.

This piece was pinned on a morning just like the one in the photo—flooded streets outside, and inside, only an echo of grace waiting across the table.

I stare at the ceiling, counting sheep until they bore,
All the while I have this feeling burning at my core.
The silence in the hallway is a weight upon the floor,
The hope that any minute now, you’ll show up at my door.

You find your spare key and fumble with the lock,
You yank the door open, ignoring the clock.
I see you there, radiant, standing mid floor—
I was reaching to hold you, needing nothing more.
I was finally closing the distance, 
Finally certain of what I was looking for.

Then the alarm screams out, a violent, metallic roar,
I yank the cord from the wall so I’ll hear that sound no more.
I’m back in the kitchen, brewing a single cup of Joe,
Watching the steam rise high and the bitter spirit flow.

The spoon clinks too loud against the side of the mug,
Missing the heat of your morning kiss, the weight of your hug.
I stare at the chair across from me, vacant and still,

Just an echo of grace

A space in the room that my heart can’t quite fill.

I drift back to the sofa, sink into the deep,
Tired of the secrets that my memories keep.
I can still smell the Shea Butter and Frankincense from your hair,
But when I reach out my hand, there’s only cold, empty air.

A text message or a phone call is what I’ll settle for,
But nothing brings me pleasure like you showing at my door.

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​I... I'm in love with you?

​When you touch me deeply, I can't tell

The warmth of your body from this cold, hard shell.

Penetrate me.

​Writing songs within my head...

…with a pen in my hand, my mind goes dead.

Thoughts of you to feed my pain—

These blank pieces of paper drive me insane.

​Why is it I feel alive with you? I feel it now.

I need the clarity to express it somehow.

You have me wrapped, wound tight, about to burst—

But I need to know if you feel it first.

Come and save me.

​You have me hypnotized; I can’t resist those ink-well eyes,

Two black voids where my logic dies.

You have me paralyzed; my words can’t reveal the pain I feel.

​I... I'm in love with you?

​Standing next to you, a phantom I’ve carved from the air,

A trick of the light that I’ve placed in your chair.

Long after you're gone, you're all my senses crave…

This month’s post embellishes an old children's folk song. Some of you may not have heard of it, so here’s a link to the wiki. I remember back in…well, way back when my arts and crafts teacher used to play old folk songs on his cassette player. This is one of my favorites, among others.
- Enjoy!

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One evening, the old woman was scrolling through her Tick Tock feed, as was her custom, just before turning in. She enjoyed watching animal clips. She lived on the farm and enjoyed watching her own animals interact. While scrolling, she stumbled on a clip of youngsters eating deep-fried flies. They made it look appealing as they challenged one another. As she sat there contemplating the absurdity of swallowing flies, she reasoned that if she tried one, she wouldn't die, so the old woman gave it a try.

She got up out of her bed and walked out to the barn. She shone the light in the dark corner on a giant spider web. There were at least two flies the spider didn't claim. She plucked one from the web and swallowed it whole. It slipped past teethless gums and down her throat before settling in her belly.

Later, while in bed, noticing that she wasn't dead, the old woman started swatting in the air at the buzzing around her head. There was nothing in the air. Maybe it's coming from the telly, she thought. She turned it off, but soon realized the buzzing sound was coming from her belly! Every annoying buzz that fly would make jolted her from her sleep, keeping her awake. Living on a farm, she knew just what to do. When It got a little lighter, she ran to the barn to look for that spider. She plucked it from its web, looked it in the eyes, and said, “Now you get in there and get rid of that fly." She opened her mouth and swallowed the spider. She felt a little lighter as it propelled down inside her.

On a morning walk with her neighbor, the Widow Wood. Mrs. Wood stepped on a pebble and screamed as loud as she could. The old woman just laughed as she stood there beside her; the spider was jiggling and tickling deep down inside her. As they walked back home, she and Mrs. Wood, the old woman couldn't stop giggling; she’d done all that she could. The old woman heard the sound of music, the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Then it occurred to her, so she swallowed the bird.

Once in the deepest and darkest pits of her belly, the bird started to sing, making her belly feel like jelly. She couldn't open her mouth; when she did, the bird would sing. Her tonsils would vibrate, and her ears would ring. Mrs. Wood couldn't believe the sounds she had heard, and she said, “How absurd for you to swallow that bird.” 

The old woman looked down and laid her eyes on an orange and white cat. She picked it up and swallowed it - just like that. Horrified, Mrs. Wood screamed! It was her prize-winning puss. It went down fighting; this puss was no wuss. The old woman explained why she swallowed the cat, and Mrs. Wood understood as a matter of fact. As the cat purred, the old woman sat perched on a log. Then she went all hog and swallowed the dog.

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She then ran out into the field and sat down on all fours. Now, the dog stared intently as the old woman opened her throat. The dog perked up with excitement because in walked a goat. The goat was confused as to what it should do; when it caught sight of the dog, off they flew. Mrs. Wood's eyes bulged as she wondered just how the old woman could stand there and swallow a cow.

Mrs. Wood towed the old woman back to the barn. The old woman happily sat there, chewing straw and swatting a ball of yarn. When Mrs. Wood returned, she was missing a horse. The old woman was lying there; she died, of course.

The police report read, just as Mrs. Wood said, the reason for the old woman ending up dead:

She swallowed the cow to catch the goat,
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog,
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat,
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly;
I don't know why she swallowed a fly – perhaps she thought she wouldn’t die!

As the cock crowed, the old woman opened her eyes. She was still alive, to her surprise. Thank goodness, she gasped; it was all in her head. She vowed not to troll Tick-Tock just before bed.

I hope you enjoyed our little twist on a classic. Thanks for reading. Until next time.

I hope everyone is well. This month, I thought I’d share the top 4 posts of 2023 in the form of most viewed. You can always reread your favorite post by visiting the archive.

In fourth place for the most viewed in 2023 is Words Unspoken, with 97 views.

This post touched me, and I know it has touched some of you. There are so many people suffering from mental illness. Whether from internal or external forces, they need our support. Let’s get the word out. Sharing is caring.

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In third place is Squall Continued… The next day, with 111 views for 2023.

First, let me say I really like this pic. As you can see, it was a beautiful day for a drive. Not a cloud in the sky, crisp clean air, warm breeze. Yeah! That was a great day. I’m hoping to have some time to revisit this storyline. So stay tuned.

In second place is The Love Of Sarah, having 121 views.

I really had a blast writing this one. I especially liked the flashback on the train. One of the things I miss about life in NYC. I’d like to change up some things and lead the story down another path.

And finally… With the most views in 2023… You guess it! Jerry, with 135 Views.

One of my faves for 2023. Jerry took me back to the streets of NY. Running through crowded streets of NYC. Good times 😊. What helped move this story along was imagining myself being there, right alongside Jerry. Mixing it up with the bullies, dodging people, and smelling the food at the street festival. What a ride.

Well! There you have it. The top 4 posts of 2023.
A BIG Thank You to my my subscribers.
An even BIGGER Thank You to you who support this site financially.

I'd be the first to complain about it being cold. But there’s something to be said about being out in it, enjoying nature. Watching the leaves change color or searching for that perfect fallen leaf to add to your scrapbook.

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I remember waiting a whole year for autumn to come around again. The previous year, as I was driving to work, I noticed that when the sun was rising, it cast a shadow in the field that was just breathtaking. It was worth waiting a whole year for. Needless to say, the pictures didn’t turn out so well; it was much warmer than last year. However, it snowed that December, which I was excited about. I finally got to experience the cold weather and snap a few photos of snowy mountains. My fingers froze, my face froze, and my toes froze. When I got home, I warmed up to a hot cup of cocoa. It was worth it ☕😀

With that said… enjoy this month’s post :)

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Refreshed and invigorated
I arise
Viewing the world through my waking eyes

My sight agaze along the horizon
A silhouette land mass
The sun now rising

A cute little Blue Bird
Now enters my sight
Startled by the clicking, it's taken to flight

Along the road, I hear a wonderful sound
Crushed earth beneath my feet
Cedar trees all around

Mmm, that refreshing smell after the rain
A million or more dew drops
On my window pane

A fox and a hare
Just over the ridge
Two Turtle doves feeding under the bridge

The morning air is so crisp
My nose just about froze
Warm gloves for my hands and boots for my toes

As the shadows fade
And the sun is ablaze
There's no better place to be on this wonderful day

Revel in the beauty
In a world that surrounds
Where life and love and dreams abound

Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment. Until next time… Ciao :)

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Enjoy!

— Some updates have been made since posting —

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Pulling into the already packed parking area, Sarah had hoped the orange cone she'd left the day before was still there. To her amazement, it was. People fight over parking spaces all the time, even resorting to some unscrupulous methods. But for some reason, even if it seems out of place, people respect the cone.

Out of the two hundred-plus available parking spaces, Sarah chose this particular space not only for the perfect view of the front entrance but also for the unobstructed view of the upper floors of the densely packed ten-story apartment building. The building was the last of four to go up in a quiet part of town undergoing reconstruction. On the front of the building were huge floor-to-ceiling windows. And it seemed the higher the apartment, the less concerned with privacy their occupants seemed.

After reclaiming her parking space, she rolled up the windows and settled in - It was the middle of Autumn and a bit nippy out. As she waited, she helped herself to a Diet Soda and a Pumpkin Spice Roll - one of her favorite indulgences this time of year.

Sarah didn't have to wait long. She knew from her previous failed attempts that on this day of the week, and around this particular time, the woman she was waiting for would exit the building. Just as Sarah sipped the last sip of her Diet Soda and was about to crack open another, there she stood in the doorway: a dark-haired woman wearing a black jacket with a sneaker logo, black stretchy yoga pants, and gray sneakers. But Sarah was still determining if that was the woman - it was much darker than on previous nights. When the woman got into her silver Toyota Corolla, there was no doubt about it. Sarah lowered her head as the woman drove past her to exit the parking lot.

Knowing what she came here to do and not wanting this to be another failed attempt, Sarah took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. She exited her car and briskly walked across the parking lot to the front entrance. There were only three ways into this high-security condo: a key card, PIN, or being buzzed in. Sarah chose the fourth option; she managed to walk in behind two guys carrying gym bags. In the elevator, Sarah caught the eye of one of the guys. He was average height, slim, and in desperate need of a shower.

"I haven’t seen you around here before; you just moved in?" he said, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Oh! No, no, I'm just visiting a dear friend. Maybe you might know him, NunYah?" Sarah replied sarcastically.

"Whoa! You got it. I can take a hint," he said, throwing his hands up and backing against the wall. His friend stood next to him, chuckling, "Nice one!"

Sarah managed to crack a smile, which helped ease her tension and regain a sense of composure. Exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, she smiled once more at the two guys and bid them good night. In the beautifully decorated hall, she didn't know which apartment she was looking for. From the layout of the building, she knew it had to be the middle apartment of the three that faced south toward the front of the building and the parking lot.

This is when she elegantly knocks on the door. The door opens, and her beloved, David, sees her, takes her into his arms, and pulls her inside the apartment. They madly kiss and grope each other before making their way to the bedroom like bulls in a China shop, and all would be right in the world.

This is it, she thought as she knocked on the door. Her nervousness makes it sound as if she's an NYC Police Officer doing a warrant raid - so much for elegance.

"Did you forget your key again?" David said, hurrying to the door, assuming it was his fiancé. They had only been in the building a few weeks and didn't know anyone, nor was he expecting company. As the footsteps got closer to the door, Sarah's heart made the leap from her chest to her throat. David swung open the door, "Sarah?!?!" he belted out in disbelief.

Sarah, though, was overjoyed to be standing toe-to-toe with her beloved David again. She couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, and it looked like he'd shed a few pounds as well. David stood about five feet eleven inches and weighed about 220 lbs. His hair was short and curly and faded, and he was clean-shaven. He was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt, which wrapped snug around his biceps, blue jeans, and a pair of house slippers.

"Hello, David,” she replied after catching her breath, "It's nice to see you too."

"What on Earth are you doing here? How did you find me?" he said in a loud whisper, trying to keep his voice from echoing through the narrow hallway.

"Never mind that, we need to talk. Can I come in?"

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"No! Sarah, there is nothing we need to talk about. And if there is, you can talk to my lawyer. I don't know how you found me, but you need to leave. Now!"

That's what he would have said had he not been taken aback by how stunning Sarah was. She stood just a few inches shorter than David, at five feet eight inches. And if it weren't for the Diet sodas and Pumpkin spice cakes she consumed over the past few weeks, she would have come in at her target weight. She wore a burgundy sleeveless V-neck sweater over a long white-sleeve collar blouse unbuttoned at the top. Her sandy brown hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. The two have been separated for more than a year and a half now, and all types of emotions started to well up inside of him: some pleasant, some vitriolic.

David's hesitation was just long enough for Sarah to brush past him, her breast pressing up against his chest as she made her way into the apartment. The citrus and tea tree oil from her hair seeped into his nostrils, triggering a distant memory of when they were in New York City visiting his younger brother.

One evening, after exploring the city, they stuffed themselves into a crowded subway car. To overcome the mix of perfume, sweat, and that all too familiar underground fragrance, Sarah buried her head in David’s chest. And David took in the refreshing and soothing tea tree oil from Sarah's hair. They were caught up in that made-for-TV moment people dream about. With the din of the subway fading into the background, they held each other tight, rocking to-and-fro with the train’s motion. David rested his eyes and imagined they were standing in the Ocean, being tossed about by the warm summer waves, as they made their way back to Brooklyn from midtown Manhattan.

David's apartment was warm and inviting, from the color scheme to the plush furniture; even the Asian-inspired carpet had a place. Haimish, Sarah thought to herself, definitely a woman’s touch. David would have preferred IKEA if it were all up to him. She made her way over to the oversized window, admiring the view, and checked for the woman’s car. Her parking space was still empty.

"You can't be here, Sarah! You know I have a restraining order against you", he said as he made his way to the window.

With her voice low and persuasive, she started to plead with David, trying to convince him that they belonged together. Her eyes, those deep brown jewels, laying ever so slightly off center, accentuated by dark, sultry eyeliner, focused David's attention right where she needed him to be. David swore he would hear none of it. But her words were like entropy building up inside of him. His executive functions thrown into chaos. His feelings were unfalsifiable, and he was powerless against her. They both knew it.

As her words started to penetrate, David began to recall how much he loved Sarah and how entwined their lives were. When they first met at the espresso bar, he couldn't take his eyes off her. And Sarah could hardly key in his order; she was so enamored by him. He needed to be sure of his feelings, though; on subsequent visits, he would drop subtle hints, and Sarah followed them closely like breadcrumbs on the road to bliss.

One day, Sarah was leaving work earlier than usual. David, just pulling into the parking lot, spotted her walking towards her car. He walked over as though about to walk past her; their eyes met. They stood there talking in the lot long enough for them to arrive late for their classes. The following evening, David was studying at the college library late into the evening. When it came time to leave, he ran into Sarah, who just so happened to be studying in the west wing of the library. They decided to grab a meal together and vowed not to make each other late for class again. They were inseparable from that point on. And a year after graduation, they were married.

Sarah slowly made her way over to David and gently kissed his lips. Her lips were soft and wet, not like Margaret's lips, David's fiancé, he thought to himself. That kiss was just what he needed to jolt him back to his senses. He glanced out the window and spotted Margaret pulling into her parking spot. Sarah glanced to see what David was looking at.

"That's enough, Sarah; let’s go," he said, grabbing her by the forearm and attempting to escort her from the apartment.

"No, David! I'm not leaving..." she said as she yanked back her arm. She pulled so hard she stumbled backward, knocking over the freestanding lamp by the window. When Margaret got out of the car, she looked up at the curtain-less window and saw someone fall, knocking over the lamp, and then what appeared to be David moving toward the figure. In a panic, she tosses her bag on the hood of her car and runs towards the building.

"Are you okay?" David asks, helping Sarah to her feet, then continues, "Look, Sarah, leave now, or I'm calling the police."

"No...David... I just wanted you to know how much I miss you. I'm still in love with you, David, and I forgive you for leaving me. Come home with me, David! We can be a family again".

"You… Forgive me? After what you've done! Are you insane!!!" The look on his face spoke louder than his voice.

"Please don't call me that," she said in a low voice.

"Well, you must be if you think I'm having anything to do with you after what you put me through.”

After Sarah started flirting with social media, she became obsessed with garnering followers and likes. David not only supported Sarah in her new endeavor, but he trusted her. Though he had his own side gig, he happily contributed to her success and the success of her feed. The extra income was helpful. He had no idea she was uploading and sharing details about their relationship. Intimate details about their love life, her playing pranks on him, and making him look the fool. She was even awarded a plaque. One day, David’s younger brother happened to see a video one of his gym buddies was watching. It showed Sarah exposing herself after purposely losing a bet. The video’s comment section was in the hundreds, and Sarah's own paid subscribers jumped. After David found out from his brother, he later filed for divorce.

Her countenance fell sharply in response to David's rejection. "David, please..." she begged.

"No! I'm calling the police," he asserted, walking to the dining room table and reaching for his phone.

In that instance, rage flared up in Sarah. She launched herself at David, clawing at his face and yelling as loud as her lungs could stand. She managed to land a left hook across David's jaw, stunning him. He grabbed Sarah's arms, and she started kicking at him. He then threw her to the side, and she knocked against the dining room table and fell to the floor.

"Get out of my apartment, Sarah!" David said firmly, no longer concerned with the neighbors.

Sarah rose from the floor, composed herself, and again launched herself at David.

"Get away from him!" Margaret shouted as she forcefully entered the apartment. Margaret attempted to subdue Sarah from behind, but the two were in such a flurry that Margaret ended up being tossed aside before she could do any good.

"Call the police,” David exclaimed. She did just that, then ran to the bedroom, emerging moments later with a loaded nine-millimeter handgun.

"Stop it. Now!" Margaret yelled, trying to gain control of the situation. "I have a gun!" - That did it.

Sarah stopped struggling with David. Then she turned her attention to Margaret.

"So,” Sarah began, "you're the one who stole my David's heart,” she said, looking past the loaded gun pointing at her. "I can see now why he doesn’t want me anymore."

On the few occasions Sarah saw Margaret getting into her car, she didn't realize how much younger, prettier, and fit she was, comparing Margaret to herself, until now.

"I didn't have to steal anyone. He left you. And if you come here trying to win him back, you're insane!" Margaret said with ever-growing boldness, feeling the cold steel warming between her palms. "Now get out of here and leave us alone!"

Sarah's eyes glazed over, and before she could take a second step, David pushed Sarah out of the way as Margaret nervously squeezed the trigger, landing the bullet intended for Sarah into David's left shoulder. Margaret quickly dropped the gun as though her hands were on fire. She had just killed her fiancé. Frozen, full of shock and fear, she covered her mouth to silence the inaudible screams her throat was too choked up to let escape.

Sarah stood where David had shoved her, shocked by the revelation she was still alive because her beloved, David, saved her life.

"What have I done!" Margaret finally exclaimed, dashing to David's side, gently caressing his lifeless body, crying and kissing him, exhorting him to awaken.

Sarah, watching, says to Margaret, "Get away from my husband!"

"He's not your husband!" she replied, anguish in her voice. "This is all your fault,” she continued, "now get out of here and leave us alone! You're insane!" she said as she laid her head on David's blood-stained shoulder.

Finally, a tear fell from Sarah's eyes. She turned to pick up the gun that had been cooling on the floor near the door. She walked over to David and Margaret. Placing the barrel of the gun against Margaret's head, she said through strained teeth, "Stop calling me that..."

~~~ Moments Later ~~~

"What do we have here?" said Detective William Ovonel as he and his partner, Detective Ruth Walker, stepped into the apartment.

"It looks like a lover's quarrel, Sir,” blurted out a junior officer.

"Go and find out who the gun belongs to, “the Senior Officer in charge ordered the junior officer. Turning to Detective Ovonel, he said, "We’re still trying to determine that, Sir."

"Who's the vic being loaded into the ambulance?" asked Detective Ovonel.

"Yes, Sir. David English. He owns this condo. The neighbors say it's been quiet since he’s moved in". The officer continued to read the details from his notepad. "It seems Sarah, being loaded on the stretcher now, gained entry brandishing a nine-millimeter handgun. David was shot in the shoulder. Margaret Smalls, David's fiancé, is cleaning up in the bathroom. I was just about to finish taking her statement, for the record, Sir. The two women struggled, and Sarah took one in the upper hip."

"And the gun?" asked Detective Walker, jotting down notes on her pad.

"The gun is registered to a Sarah B. English, Sir,” the junior officer yelled from across the room.

As Sarah was being led out of the apartment, she remembered that David had purchased the gun for her early on in their marriage. She claimed she was being stalked by one of her followers. David held onto the gun after the divorce, not knowing if Sarah might hurt herself or someone else.

"Good job, Officer," Detective Walker replied to the junior officer. Then said to the Senior Officer, "Have a car follow the ambulance. I don't want her limping her way out of this". She continued, "and have someone call me as soon as David is stable."

"Yes, Sir,” replied the Senior Officer.

The two Detectives stood by the window admiring the view and staring down at the flashing lights. Detective Ovonel noticed the reflection of a young woman walking up behind them. She was wearing blue jeans and a pink sweater, oversized glasses, and her hair was done in a ponytail.

"Beautiful view", he said.

"Yes, that's why David wanted to live here,” she said, trying to keep herself composed.

"You must be Margaret. I'm Detective Ovonel, and this is my partner, Detective Walker," he said. "Can we get you anything? A glass of water?" he offered gentlemanly.

"No, thank you. I just want to go be with David", she replied, wiping a tear from her eye.

"You can. You can ride with us if you like," said Detective Ovonel.

"But first,” Detective Walker interjected, "we'd like to hear your side of the story before we do, if that's okay with you,” gesturing over to the tattered sofa.

Margaret walked over, adjusted the pillows, and sat down. Detective Walker sat beside her and asked, "So, can you tell us what happened here tonight, Margaret?"

"I'll try", she began. "I was only gone a few minutes..." she said, her lower lip quivering as tears started to pour from her eyes.

"It's okay, Margaret, take your time,” the Detective said reassuringly.

"Okay..." she continued, "I was only gone a few minutes..."

"Where did you go?" the Detective interrupted.

"I went to the bakery to pick up the carrot cake they were holding for me. It’s what we do every Friday, but especially today, since…" she paused.

"What? What’s so special about today?"

"It's our first anniversary; we are going to be married in June,” she replied with a slight smile.

"I see. Please, continue".

"When I returned, I saw someone struggling with David in the window. I left my key card, and I was too upset to remember the code. So I started banging on the door until someone let me in. Anyway, when I got to the apartment, I saw her lunging at David".

"You mean Sarah!" Detective Ovonel asked.

"If that's her name, Yes. She just attacked him. Then I tried to help but couldn't. Then I called the police".

"When did you see her shoot David?" he asked.

"That's the thing, Detective, I didn't", she replied. "On hearing the shot, I must have blacked out. The next thing I remember, I was holding David. I thought he was dead. Sarah was standing over me with the gun to my head. And that's when David woke up. Sarah was distracted, so I pushed her away. We began wrestling; then the gun went off. That's all I remember".

"Thank you, Margaret. I know this must be hard on you. But if you remember anything else, please give me a call," Detective Walker said.

"Detective Ovonel,” the officer interrupted, "the press is downstairs waiting for a statement."

Detective Walker walked over to the window, turned to Detective Ovonel, and asked, "What should we say to them?"

Detective Ovonel replied, "Nothing. For now. Let's get this young lady to the hospital. It's their anniversary".

"How insane do you have to be to do this to someone on their anniversary!" Detective Walker said, shaking her head.”

Should Sarah have cut her losses? Was David’s reaction warranted? Do you have a made-for-TV moment? Let me know in the comments.

Thanks again for reading and your support…

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The touch I get from you…
…Makes my head tweak
…Makes my legs feel weak
…Makes my still heart beat

The touch I get from you…
…Makes my blood pressure rise
…Makes my body feel high
…Makes my soul touch the sky

The touch I get from you…
…Makes me lose my mind
…Makes me feel lost in time
…Makes me feel so alive

The touch I get from you…
...Is Incredible

Happy Autumn, everyone!!

Thank you for your continued support and encouragement.

To my paid supporters…

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I've had this dream now since last May
But what's its meaning?
I cannot say
When I'm dreaming
It's like a year in a day
and if I recall
it goes this way...

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Here I lie now in my bed
my pillow snug underneath my head
and my belly feeling fully fed
To awake in the night
I fearfully dread
to stumble down the stairs
for a slice of bread

Sliding down the Hammock curve
into REM sleep to observe
the dream I dreamt the night before

Is someone knocking at my door?

There is a light outside my window pane
but upon the floor it does not stain
so in my bed I shall remain

I awake to find the sky so blue
and there you stood
beautiful and true
oddly, you were holding up my shoe
There, I heard you say to me
"Meet me, darling, under the tree”

Is it morning already?
I couldn't tell
I'm way too tired to reach for my cell
the clock on the wall didn't go gong
so it's back to REM sleep before long

Dreaming of how I'll whisk you away
on a beautiful, warm spring day
where the brook is babbling
and the birds are at play
under our tree
we'll blissfully lay
the air would be filled with the sweet smell of berries
and we'll be feeding on fresh-picked cherries
grapes, cheeses, and prosciutto galore
dark chocolates, milk chocolates
who could ask for more!
The surrounding meadow has so much in store
and...

Is there someone knocking at my door?

Under the tree within the meadow
dreaming how our hearts were settled
drinking hibiscus and rose petal
and...

There is someone knocking at my door!
A slither of light now stains the floor
I shut the blinds the night before
the neon lights were hard to ignore

I checked the time on my cell
was it noon already?
Oh what the he**
The clock on the wall didn't go gong
I tossed it last week
the décor was all wrong

Was I to meet you under the tree?
I thought I was dreaming what you said to me
Then when you kissed me and said, "I love you"
you smiled and you held up my shoe

I pinched myself
cause I must be dreaming
even mad it hurt so I'll start screaming
but instead it tickled
and I started to laugh
then fell into the brook
Hello! It was like an ice bath

I tried to stand
but I couldn't escape
I started splashing around
like a big angry ape
Just when I couldn't take it anymore
I awoke
I was lying on the floor
I wiped the water clear from my eyes
why, an ice bucket beside me lies

Stirred
Annoyed
Drenched to the core
and...

there it is again!
that knocking once more

"Who is it?" I yell
stumbling to my feet
the knocking
the tapping
stubbornly repeats

Slipping and sliding my way across the floor
determined to find out who's behind that door

I open It
and about lost my sight
for I was then greeted by a glaring white light
As my eyes adjusted
the light warmed to yellow
and there I stood
barefoot
in the middle of the meadow

I've had that dream now since last May
and to its meaning
I couldn't say
It leaves my mind in a terrible haze
I'll figure it out one of these days
Though I may never know why you're holding my shoe
I'd just the same walk barefoot through the meadow with you.

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…There’s no place I’d rather be
With your subtle charm, you have the power to arrest
I love to stroke your hair as you lay upon my chest
I love to gaze into your eyes and melt in your laughter
A perfect life for you and me is all that I'm after

Blissful moments we share are always short-lived
As the pleasures you seek, I'm unable to give
Yet It matters not to you; I'm reluctant to see
I am torn in pieces because you matter to me

Helpless
...What can I do
Helpless
...To get through to you
Helpless
...Against wolves in sheep's clothing that haven't been fed
I'm helpless and determined to bring you back from the dead

Ravenous they come in your darkest hour
With flagrant duplicity, your soul to devour
In their lust for blood, you've become their muse
Request for your vein you never refuse
Reveling in pleasure, a loathsome slight
Drained and lifeless, you appear at first light

Helpless
...To break this spell you hold
Helpless
...Because with teeth you've grown bold
Helpless
...Release from you is all I seek
Because in spite of my love, it's you who makes me weak and helpless.

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    This month marks a milestone here at DayLove’s. This month we celebrate our first Anniversary 🥳

I started posting my writings here on July 4th, 2022. My goal then, as it is now, was to have a place dedicated to writing. I can share my work with you and receive feedback, thus helping me to sharpen my skills as an aspiring writer.
    It has not been easy with work, life, and those things that pop up. I knew going in that there would be some challenges. Some days I would sit for hours wading through the din, trying to piece together my thoughts. For an introvert, this process could take some time. During some sessions, ideas would flow, and others, well…
For example, “Jerry and Me” took close to six-plus months before I could get it to a point where I felt comfortable enough to share it with you. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy every moment, though sometimes it can be very frustrating. I have received some great comments and constructive feedback on various posts. How encouraging! Thank you so much.

I want to share some stats to show how much you enjoyed it.

Again, Thank you for sticking around to help celebrate our first Anniversary.
If you are here for the first time, please consider subscribing and helping us celebrate our next milestone.

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To celebrate our first anniversary, this month I am also offering a 15% discount at my store for the first 10 customers. Daymond Green's Art Shop
Use the following code at checkout: CBZPYS

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Trailing her shadow as she steadily glides by

Navigating the expanse of the clear blue sky

Along a dusty path in the blazing desert sun

She leads me to a place called emancipation

Standing perilous on the edge of the precipice

I solemnly pray for the wings of Daedalus

I shut my eyes, fighting the urge to regress

Impetuously I leap, gravity doing the rest

Descending rapidly, and there’s nothing I can do

Terra firma dramatically rushing into view

The waves of the ocean crashing against the shore

The burning sensation emanating from my core

The salty sea air pressing hard against my face

Adrenalized, my heart beating at a hurried pace

As my life’s story plays out before my eyes

My mind searches for a blessing and disguise

I’ve been raped of all that I know

The wrath of man all but dealt a death blow

Then I looked towards the skies, and she called out to me

A lone free bird soaring majestically

No more fear, no more doubts

One last breath to ride this out

Innate instinct urging me to fly

Virgin wings propel me toward the sky

In that instance, I am transformed, a new life given birth

I’m no longer the soul I was when born to this earth

The sun warms my wings, setting them aglow

My shadow creeping stealthily on a tattered world below

I looked towards the skies, and she called out to me

With the wings of an eagle, I have been set free

Thanks for reading!

To celebrate our first anniversary, this month I am also offering a 15% discount at my store for the first 10 customers. Daymond Green's Art Shop
Use the following code at checkout: CBZPYS

As an IT Professional, I often install operating systems and build virtual machines. One of my biggest quarks is coming up with and assigning them names (aka hostname). Like many in my field, we usually give them names from sci-fi or fantasy movies and books. Names like Hal9000, Gandalf, and NX-72405 (the registry for the Starship Defiant). One of my computers’ hostnames is NCC-1701-D, which is the registry for the Starship Enterprise, Capt. Picard’s timeline, as if you didn’t know.

With that said, I’d like to introduce you to Jerry, whose name just flowed from the start; well, it’s also my mom’s nickname. Jerry is kind-hearted, has a very active imagination, self-sufficient, and like most kids his age, is just trying to survive middle school. Aside from Jerry, my lack of unique naming is plainly evident in this month’s post.

~~~ ENJOY ~~~

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Outside the school, and right on time, Jerry and I were approached by the two thugs that promised to do us bodily harm after school. The two Thugs were in the process of humiliating another student in the hall outside of the boy’s room. Jerry and I stepped in, and well, let’s just say they did not like that at all. Outside, things were starting to get really ugly as other students began to gather around, jeering.

So there we stood, Jerry and me, wishing we were anywhere but here in the middle of this bloodthirsty crowd. Jerry looked at me, I gave him a confident nod, and he instantly knew the plan. In the blink of an eye, Jerry threw a solid right hook to Thug 2’s chin. He stumbled backward and came down hard on Thug 1’s foot, then we both took off down the street. Jerry and I were half a block away before they knew what had happened. The onlookers started taunting the thugs saying things like ‘Oh Snap!’ and ‘Dude! You gonna let lil-man do that to you?’ Others were pointing and saying, ‘he went that way!’ When they recovered, they started giving chase. Jerry was lite and fast on his feet. It reminded me of the softball game where he hit a soft grounder to first this past summer.

Jerry was at the plate. The score was 3 - 0, with two outs, at the bottom of the 5th inning. Jerry already had two strikes against him. The pitcher was an intimidating-looking 11-year-old, and he was making chop liver out of Jerry’s team.

“Come on, Jerry! Save me a hit!” said the next kid on deck.

Jerry looked back to where I was, standing in the seating section amongst all the little-league parents, who were trying their hardest to display exceptional sportsmanship-like conduct. I gave Jerry a confident nod. He smiled and nodded back. Turning his gaze to the pitcher, he readied himself for the next pitch. As the pitcher threw the ball, Jerry tucked in, firmly planted his footing, closed his eyes, and swung for the bleachers. To his and everyone else's amazement, he connected! A soft grounder to first, breaking the pitchers' streak. Jerry took off like a bat out of hell toward first. His little legs were a blur, carrying him as fast as they could. And like most of the other young players, he wanted to go home with proof that he played, so he dove head first into the bag. But the pitcher was quick to action, and Jerry was tagged out just inches from being safe. That kid had a massive smile on his face walking back to the bench; you’d think he just won the game single-handed. At least, that’s how he and I felt at that moment. I couldn’t have been more proud of my friend then than I am now.

Jerry ran his little 12-year-old heart out, trying to escape being pulverized by Thug 1 and Thug 2. We ran down the street, dodging patches of kids pouring out of the school doors and reluctantly climbing onto their assigned buses. There was no need for Jerry to take the school bus. He lived in the neighborhood just a few blocks from the school but in the opposite direction. This meant we had to take the long way home, going a right on Avenue D, then another right up Jay Street through the shopping district, and finally turning right on Avenue A.

We reached the corner of Avenue D, and after looking both ways for oncoming traffic, we darted off; the crossing guard was already on the other side of the street. Only a handful of people were on this block, but it was lined with big black trash bags. As Jerry and I made our way through Avenue D towards Jay Street, we were trying not to get hit with flying trash bags as the storekeepers tossed out their trash for morning pickup. Turning onto Jay Street, we paused for a moment to plot out our course and catch our breath. Jay Street was the busiest in the neighborhood, especially when school let out. There were shops of all kinds, from low-end, hard-to-find gadgets to your big box stores and clothing stores of endless variety. And not to mention Street vendors selling fruits and veggies, knock-off Gucci bags, and fake Movado watches. Thug 1 and Thug 2 finally made it across and continued in their pursuit; they were held up by the crossing guard.

With our course plotted, we took off like Han Solo in the Millennium Falcon, trying to make the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs. We dodged left, then right, then left again, spinning on our heels - avoiding one person after another and Chihuahuas on long leashes. We ran between two people splitting apart, Jerry ran straight into the firmness of someone’s backside and, bouncing off, he fell to the ground.

“Hey! Watch it!” the social influencer blurted out as she spun around to give whoever knocked into her a piece of her mind. She was taking selfies against the backdrop of the crowded street. Seeing no one at eye level, she noticed Jerry on the ground.

“Oh! Are you okay? You need to watch where you're going.” 

He couldn’t help but notice her long slender legs, they went on for miles, She was wearing a pair of long white over-knee leather boots that came up under a white pleated mini-skirt with a black leather belt, a white tank top, and a matching white leather jacket. As she kneeled and extended a hand to help Jerry to his feet, her long dark hair draped over her shoulders, framing her flawless face like that of a cover girl model. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.” Jerry said - blushing.

When she caught sight of Jerry, she was taken aback by how handsome he was, with his baby face and unique eyes, one powder blue and the other hazel.

“Hey! I’ve got an idea,” she said - ebulliently. “Would you like to take a selfie with me? For my blog post,” she asked. 

Feeling like he had just been personally invited to an exclusive club by the president herself, he glanced in my direction. I shrugged and reluctantly reminded him of our current crisis by nodding in the direction of our pursuers, who were gaining ground. Jerry glanced back, then said to the influencer in a hurried voice, “Um…no...sorry, I…I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Besides, I have to be getting home now.” 

“Oh! Okay. Good for you! You do just that,” she said with a pointed finger, “and you might want to be a bit more careful little man.”

“I will,” he said with a smile full of charm and playfulness.

Thug 1 and Thug 2 were having a more challenging time navigating the crowded street. They were much taller and couldn't as easily make their way through without causing a ruckus.

Jerry and I made it across Avenue C where pedestrian traffic was a little light. On this stretch, shops were on the more upscale boutique type. Most of the people were stopped in front of shop windows admiring the meticulously arranged display of merchandise. Some even ventured in to graze amongst the elegant fabric too high-priced for the average to afford. A straight sprint was not going to be enough to keep Thug 1 and Thug 2 at a good distance. They could quickly overtake us. Spotting a “seemingly abandoned” Huffy Mountain bike propped up against a grocery store entrance, I motioned to Jerry to hop on. Jerry quickly jumped on the bike without hesitation and started pedaling as fast as his young legs could muster; he took off like an X-wing starfighter in hyperdrive.

“Hey… that’s my bike!” exclaimed the delivery boy, “he just stole my bike!” and started giving chase.

Jerry didn’t think twice about the fact that now there were three angry boys on our tail, or at least that’s how it seemed. As soon as the delivery boy joined the chase, he was shoved aside into a pile of trash bags by Thug 1. Jerry looked over his shoulder to see if he was making headway and noticed Thug 1 standing over the delivery boy. He was okay but didn’t continue in the pursuit.

Jerry was putting some distance between himself and the thugs cruising up Jay Street on his borrowed bike, but that didn’t last too long because, across Avenue B, bike riding is prohibited; so are all forms of motorized transportation, skateboarding, and roller skating. The only authorized mode of transportation is foot power. This is the time of year when the street is blocked off. Shops and diners line the street and sidewalk with tables and tasting stations in hopes of receiving return business for the rest of the year. Jerry could easily get lost in this crowd. He would have to be careful speed walking through, though, being careful not to knock into one of the servers darting back and forth to the tables or any of the patrons enjoying an afternoon meal. Thug 1 and Thug 2 stood at the entrance of the barricade, looking for any sign of their prey. 

Jerry and I ducked beside an Italian Ice cart - Rita’s - our favorite. Jerry figured he might have time to purchase one for the road. As he stuck his head up to glance over the cart, Thug 2 caught sight of him. Thug 2 just so happened to be staring at the Italian Ice cart; perhaps he was hoping he could stop and get one as well. 

“I got him! Over by the Ice cart,” he exclaimed, “come on!” 

As they both made their way through the maze of tables, Jerry quickly dismissed the idea of getting an Ice cup and darted up the rest of the street, hopping the barricade and then using a pole to help propel him around the corner. We were home free. But Thug 1 and Thug 2 were hot on our heels. Jerry reached into his pocket and fumbled with the door key. Thug 1 and Thug 2 were quickly gaining on us. Finally, reaching the lobby door, Jerry looked up through the glass and started to beat on it intensely for the lobby attendant to let us in. The lobby attendant quickly sprang into action. With his long legs and athletic build, he made quick of what space lay between him and the door. 

Being a lobby attendant in this neighborhood meant being alert at all times and knowing your tenants. Jerry’s frantic and repeated banging on the door could easily be mistaken for ‘I forgot my key and really need to use the bathroom,’ but the attendant knew better. He saw the fear in Jerry’s eyes. No, this was no mere bathroom run. This poor boy was about to get an impromptu lesson in self-defense. Since moving to this neighborhood, Jerry has been a magnet for bullies trying to get the best of him. Jerry’s Dad was aware of the trouble he would face, so he diligently taught Jerry what to do in situations like this. He also made preparations for the lobby attendant and the next-door neighbor to check in on Jerry while he was out of town on business trips, which was very frequent. 

Jerry and I walked to school every day. But whenever Jerry’s Dad had to leave for a business trip, he would drop us off. Today, Jerry was pretty adamant about going along for the journey. Today just so happens to be one of those days.

“Dad! Can I please go with you, please, pretty please, with cherries on top? I know how much you like cherries!” his boyish charm lighting up the interior of the car, “please, Dad?” 

His beaming blue and hazel eyes cut into his Dad. I could tell he wanted to cave. 

“You know it’s not that kind of trip, Jerry! I’ll be working all day,” he replied, trying not to give Jerry an in. “Besides, you have a lot of studying to do to catch up with the rest of your class,” he continued. “Look! Miss Moreno will be making your lunch and dinner, and the lobby attendant will be checking in on you. You’ll be okay,” he assured Jerry. 

“I know…,” Jerry replied - crushed, “don’t have too much fun without me,” he said as he hugged his Dad before exiting the car.

The lobby attendant flung open the door with such force it made the papers on his desk scatter. He pulled Jerry in and, at the same time, stepped out just in time for Thug 1 and Thug 2 to run right into his muscle-toned chest. The lobby attendant then quickly subdued them by grabbing hold of their earlobes. Relieved to be on home turf,  Jerry and I waited by the elevator, panting. We watched as the lobby attendant ushered our tormentors into the chairs behind the desk. The lobby attendant assured us that the situation would be dealt with. We had the utmost confidence that he would do just that. We hardly heard a peep from the other would-be assailants; they may have even transferred schools or something. Whatever the case, Jerry and I were satisfied with whatever outcome didn’t include us ending up as someone's stress relief doll. As the door to the elevator began to close, Jerry and I saluted the lobby attendant and the two thugs with a hearty two-finger salute.

Exhausted from the ordeal, Jerry dropped his book bag by the door, as is his custom, and placed the key in the dish. Then, heading straight for the kitchen, we fixed ourselves a big bowl of magically delicious goodness. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jerry pulls out an action figure - the handsome Han Solo. Looking it over for scrapes and bruises, he pulls pocket lint from the joints and places him on the table. 

“We escaped another one, Han,” he said with a tired sigh, “I don’t know how I could have done it without you.” 

“We sure did, kid,” I replied, “we sure did.”

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Thanks for joining me in seeing that Jerry got home safe and sound. It takes a village you know…

Let me know what you think by ticking that like button and or leaving a brief comment. This community can only grow by word of mouth, so please share it with your family and friends.

Thank You, and until next time ✌(-‿-)✌

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My Delicate Flower, My Beautiful Rose
The Sweet Scent Of You, God Wisely Chose

In The Morning Mist, Silk Petals Glisten With Dew
Suffusing The Very Air With The Essence Of You

What Manner Of Creature Can Resist Thee
With Lips Like Honey Attracting Many A Bee

My Flower, My Rose, Of The Purest Of Hues
Regal And Mysterious And Passion Infused

Hold Back Your Prickles, And Do Not Chase
Your Fragile Soul, Gentle Hands Embrace

Deep Within My heart, Your Roots Are Planted
Like the Meadows In Springtime, I’m Forever Enchanted

What’s In A Name? If I May Borrow The Phrase
I Shall Cherish Thee Rose Forever And Always

Thank You For Reading This Months Post. Let Me Know What You Think.

If you Would Like To Purchase A Canvas Print Of “The Enchanted Rose” Leave A Request In The Comment Section Or Send Me A DM.

And Last But Not Least, I Want To Send A Big Thanks To My Paid Subscribers By Offering A 20% Discount On Canvas Prints Of “The Enchanted Rose”.

This month's post deals with mental illness. In it, I try to echo some of the un-uttered words and Ignored emotional anguish felt by those suffering, often in silence. Whether self-inflicted or brought on by means outside their control, they need our love, support, and understanding.

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My heart is heavy
My emotions left bare
My flesh full of rage
Can you feel it in the air

My eyes are hot!
There's a burning inside
Behind these tempered lips
In anger I reside

Stripped of my passion
Twisted up in their game
Though this body may survive
My mind will never be the same

Ignored and ill-treated
But who can cry foul
My words fall on deaf ears
Their faces scowled

I cry in the moment
A word in every tear
I'm screaming in silence
Can you not hear

Shrouded by the darkness
Nothing left for them to take
They pick, poke and prod
Let me die for heaven's sake

For every day in this place
Is another day going madder
I try to ignore them
Their frightful chitter-chatter

Shackled to my dreams
And the voices in my head
They tell me to kill
I lay listless instead

Crooning to myself
In the somber key of dread
Staring at the IV
From which I’m fed

It's become obvious
I'm fighting a losing battle
They promised peace and safety
But we're funneled through like cattle

My burdens are so heavy
No one seems to care
I'm so ashamed I can't speak
Cloth me in despair

Tell me where it hurts
Are you feeling better now
Soften your grip
Untangle your brow

Please save me from this world
I'm frowning
Crying within myself
I'm drowning

Sing me a song
So that my soul may ascend
High above the fog
So I can breathe again

The warmth you give
Dries away all my tears
Stifled tears I've amassed
Through these troubled years

The kindness of your heart
Release me from my fears
Fears that kept me estranged
From all that I've held dear

Take hold of my hand
I'll keep you close to me
Guide you through the firmament
Where you can be free

Free to embrace the life
Conditioned to despise?
Free to love the life
Reflected in your eyes?

Unshrouded!
Now I see the world anew
Unshackled!
From the pain that alienated me from you

If you or anyone you know is or may be suffering, you don't have to fight alone. Talk to someone, a family member, or a close friend. And if needed, a quick search will put you in touch with more specialized care.

Please share… Thanks for reading…

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The below picture is from a road trip my wife and I took a few months back to visit some friends in Lake Tahoe. We stopped in a small town just off the highway to fill up the tank and our bellies. I like visuals, and I thought this picture would be fitting, seeing how our main character found himself stranded in a similar area. Click here to catch up. So! Let’s get into it.

Squall continued… The next day.

I was jolted awake by a tap on the window.

“Hello…are you alright in there?” the stranger called out in a voice full of worry, “hello…, are you okay? Do you need some help?”

“Ye…, No! I mean, yeah! I’m okay,” I replied, slowly recovering from my Xanax-induced coma. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the bright morning sunlight as I struggled to open the sliding door of my powerless electric minivan.

It’s morning, 10:15 am, to be exact. The sun’s shining, traffic is flowing, and the fueling station is in full swing. It seems the power was restored sometime during the night.

“Hey, I don’t mean to be a bother," the stranger continued, "but I couldn’t help but notice you sleeping in your van with the windows drawn,” she said, “it’s already 93° out.”

At this hour? I could have baked to death in there if I had slept any longer.

“Hey, no bother at all. Thanks for waking me up,” I said appreciatively, rubbing my eyes, “I guess I owe you one.”

I didn’t mind owning her one at all. I mean, how often does one get woken up by a beautiful stranger? 5 foot 9 inches tall, with long, flowing dark hair. She wore a sleeveless halter neck summer jumpsuit decorated with pink and yellow orchids and blue flowers. She removed her oversized straw hat, the kind you wear on the beach, and tucked it under her arm. She kept her matching oversized sunglasses on.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, waving it off as nothing. “Long night, I presume?”

”That, my friend, is an understatement. The storm knocked out the power while I was plugged in and…I guess the circuits got fried; nothing’s working now,” I explained.

“Bummer,” she replied, “I heard on the radio that an electric storm came out of nowhere last night."

Electric storm! Well, that would explain it. No rain, orange and yellow lightning. I thought I was losing my mind. Shame the van didn’t make it, though.

“I’ll have to call the rental company to see if they can send a replacement. Not sure how long that’ll take," I said, plugging the charging connector back into the station. "I don’t even know where I am,” I said with my hands on my head, looking around to find some sort of marker, a road sign, or something to help get my bearings. As I looked around, all I could see was a vast desert valley with the occasional Prickly Pear, Yucca, and Joshua Tree. Beyond that were brown rolling hills, and beyond that, snow-capped mountains. Finally, I turned and noticed there was a dive behind the attendant station. I didn’t see it last night because the power was out.

“I could really use a nice hot cup of coffee right now. Can I buy you a cup?” I asked the beautiful stranger, hoping she would say yes, “...it’s the least I can do. Seeing how you saved my life and all.”

“Sure, why not! I was heading that way anyway,” she replied, cracking a warm smile, “...looks like I have about an hour or so to kill anyway.” Her car was charging in the space next to mine. She drove an impressive looking 2019 Tesla Model X - Cherry red.

Crossing the station heading to the dive, I couldn’t help but notice that we were attracting attention, or at least she was. Her hips rocked hypnotizingly to and fro when she walked. Her matching white balder sandals made it look as though she was gliding through the air, her wide-legged jumpsuit swaying in the non-existent breeze, like a national flag of a country all her own.

The dive was a hole in the wall. The outside looked like it could use a fresh coat of paint. The old grayish paint was shedding, revealing the cold bare red brick beneath. As long as there was a fresh hot coffee inside, I could care less. I masked up and, pulling out my hand sanitizer, offered some to my companion. “Oh! No, thank you,” she said as she dawned on her mask with writing that read ‘too cute to be seen’ and pulled out a pair of elegant-looking satin wrist-length gloves.

Walking inside, I wished I had a pair of gloves as well. It looked just as dated as the outside. Only two dull fluorescent lights were lit, they hung over the bar, and the rest of the interior was lit by what light filtered through the cluttered windows. The shelves were packed with what looked like memorabilia and collectibles from a time long before my grandmother was born. There were t-shirts and ball caps wrapped in plastic, the store's name embroiled on them - Peggy's. I glanced over the rack of photos and postcards of the local town, but nothing looked familiar; I ended up snagging a few. We talked at length over our breakfast. I told her about my ordeal last night and how I ended up on the floor of the van; we had a good laugh over that. She was heading to LA to record a song - Zephyr - or something like that, and she felt inspired to drive the whole way.

The rental company finally got back to me. They said they should have a replacement sent in 5-6 hours, which was the best they could do. After about an hour or so, my companion got a ping on her phone; it must have been her Tesla alerting her that it was fully charged because she was looking intently out the window, but a charter bus was blocking the view.

“Hey! Why don’t you ride with me,” she said excitedly, as though thrilled at the prospect, “you can pick up another rental when we get to town. Anyway, it beats sitting around here for 5 hours.”

The offer seems too good to pass up.

“I…I don’t know. I don’t want to impose,” I replied, “I mean, you already saved my life once,” I said with a chuckle. Her reply was insistent.

“Nonsense! Come on! It’ll be fun! Besides, I could use the company.”

Anyway, who am I to argue with serendipity?

”Okay,” I said vivaciously, “Sounds like a plan.”

As we made our way across the gas station back to the charging stations, souvenirs and snacks in hand, a bead of sweat ran down my face - the heat was incredible. I'm glad she offered me the lift, as my other two options didn't seem as appealing; hang out in the dive and become part of the fixtures, like Cliff and Norm, who were sitting on the back barstools, chugging cola and debating life’s nuances. Or wander through a desert town at high noon. I'd just as soon hitch a ride with a perfect stranger.

She popped open the boot, and I loaded my belongings next to her suitcase and black duffel bag. The inside of the Tesla was roomy and smelled like spring. Fitting, seeing how its owner is a ray of sunshine herself.

“You know what?" I said with dramatic realization, "I don't believe we’ve been properly introduced.” I guess it was one of those things you would forget when you feel like you already know someone. “Mark Smith,” I said, extending my hand.

“You know…you are absolutely right,” she replied. Then, turning her body to face me, she removed her oversized sunglasses. Her eyes were an enchanting marble gray. A squall of emotions fell over me. I tried desperately to keep my composure. Then removing her glove, she regally extended her hand to me.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smith,” she said with a semi-perfect imitation of Scarlett O'Hara, “I’m Jane, Jane Carefree.”

The End

I hope you enjoyed that read. I can’t tell you how much fun I had writing it. Please let me know what you think in the comments.

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During the holidays, I decided to take a writing course to brush up on a lot of what I didn’t know. One of the suggestions was to use writing prompts, so I figured I’d have a go at it. The chosen word prompt was ‘squall’ taken from the New York Times “Word of the Day. “ I initially thought it had something to do with a type of animal or certain living conditions - Don’t laugh. What I learned from my new word kicked my imagination into gear. I admit I did get a little carried away, so much so I ended up writing 6 pages - double-spaced and with 1-inch margins. I’m only posting the first half this month. Let me know what you think. You know what to do from here.

Enjoy (•‿•)

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A howl in the distance - as though my name was being carried aloft by the squall that rushed past my ears. I turned around inquisitively to see if someone was calling out to me, perhaps the station's attendant. But at that very moment, a violent lightning strike struck the ground a few yards away, and the deafening and disorienting sonic boom followed milliseconds behind. All I could see was the blackness that engulfed this small fueling station; the storm had knocked out all the power to the area. Even the soft glow of the last quarter moon has lost power; it has been blacked out by the dark, ominous clouds that now blanket the sky.

Except for the flashes of light streaking through the dark clouds, temporarily setting them aglow, there was hardly any way to see where I was going. I shuttered in fear from the reverberating clash of thunder; it sounded as though heaven itself was being ripped apart from the inside. In times like these, I would try to recall the old saying, "the sun is still shining just above the clouds." But that wasn’t going to help. It was dark, it was noisy, I was alone, and I was terrified.

When traveling by air, which I undoubtedly prefer, I often reserved a window seat so I could look out and admire the clouds from above. I'd often pray for those poor souls down below, running for dear life, searching for a hiding place from the storm. It often looked frightening from where I was sitting, in safety, high above the puffy white towers, floating through the firmament. I could only imagine being caught in such terrible conditions. But now, I didn't have to imagine. I was experiencing it at this very moment, running for dear life, trying not to become a casualty of a perfectly timed random lightning strike.

After stumbling across the station back to my car, I lay cringing on the floor, tucked between the second and third-row seating. I can’t help but ruminate on the mix-up at the airport, and to whom the airline gave my window seat. They're probably, at this very moment, flying overhead, looking out at the towering clouds floating beneath them - without a care for the poor souls on the ground. "Pray for me…'cause you can only imagine the harm I would do to you for taking my seat. Forcing me to drive this "fully electric" minivan through the middle of nowhere - that just so happened to suffer electrical failure while plugged into a charging station."

Meanwhile…

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. For your continued safety, we request that you keep your seat belt fastened at all times while seated,” said the voice over the PA. Anxious passengers raced to be first to use the cramped restrooms, others got up to rummage through their belongings in the overhead compartment. But the passenger in seat 4F, however, just sat there, staring out at the dark towering clouds.

“That’s some storm!” said the passenger in the adjacent aisle seat.

“What? Oh! Yeah,” he finally replied. Mesmerized by the spectacular light show, he hardly noticed that someone was talking to him. “Sure is beautiful though. I would hate to be caught out in that…whatever it is,” he continued as he lowered the window shade, donned his noise-canceling headphones, and made himself comfortable for the remainder of the flight.

To Be Continued…

I hope you enjoyed this month’s post. Stay tuned for next month’s exciting conclusion.

P.S. As promised, this site will remain free. However, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your donations will aid in my providing you with quality reading material, as well as help with some of the cost of maintaining this site. Thank You!

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Hoping you all had a wonderful time with your family and friends.

Speaking of the New Year, New Year’s Eve is what most look forward to though. People attending various parties as ubiquitous as those funny outfits some don only once a year, hopefully. Others gathered on rooftops and fire-escapes (at least in the city where I grew up, fun times!) to enjoy all the festivities and excitement from afar. Waiting patiently for the clock to run it’s 24hr course one final time to close out the year, for some it’s the end of a nightmare, for others the beginning of a dream. 11:59:00…

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And that brings us to this months post… The First Kiss… Enjoy!

Firm to the touch, gentle at best
Your beautiful face, I gently caress

Am I losing my senses, my feet are so cold
I can't louse this up, love should make me bold

As I gaze into your eyes, the world fades away
The spotlight of the moon holds it captive at bay

Within those dark brown eyes, a subtle reckoning
With the bite of your bottom lip, a desirous beckoning

Two souls were adrift and in this moment converge
Never have I felt such a powerful surge

Passions ignited, the flame of love now lit
So eager my soul to taste your sweet lips

My heart is racing, I can feel yours is too
They race in sync enhancing the mood

Our faces aligned, the moment is nigh
Sparks of lightning break forth towards endless black sky

So much more than I've hoped for
So much better than a dream
So much lust and passion, rips my flesh by the seams

Fireworks and flairs and gold pixie dust
They dance around us, the universe can't bind us

Feel the fire in our kiss, our warm embrace
Galaxies shoot by while stars sparkle in there place

My head is spinning as I struggle to breath
My heart pounds at my chest refusing to concede

It was fast and it was furious like that movie Shaw & Hobbs
Your mouth on my mouth chasing tongues like apple-bob

Out here wrapped in your arms feeling like I belong
The DJ inside playing my favorite song
Eager for another shot while the moment’s still warm
And I’m feeling like we could stay here until the early morn’

Was it as good for you as it was for me?!?! Let me know what you think. Be sure to look out for next months post.

Ciao

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Some of my favorites singers include Zoë Johnston, Nadia Ali, and Emma Hewitt. And songs like… Armin van Buuren feat. Laura Jansen - Sound Of The Drums, Above & Beyond feat. Zoë Johnston - Love Is Not Enough, and Above & Beyond pres. OceanLab - Satellite.

With the mood now set, let’s get into this months post… Zephyr!

You don't even understand me or try
Even though so much time has passed us by
We grow apart each time you try to pry
My love grows dry with every tear that falls from your eyes

I defend myself every day
And I'm running out of words to say
Why did you have to go and ask me why
Now the time has come for us to say goodbye

I don't need your pleading, although your heart is bleeding
I don't need your sighing, as though your heart is dying

I just needed your luv'n
That's why I keep on coming
I only needed your luv'n
That's why I keep on running to you

You make me feel like I'm a thief in the night
In the day we only fuss and fight
I cannot help the way I'm making you feel
As though our luv'n somehow sealed the deal…for you

But now look at what you're making me do…

I don't accept your petition, as though you're on a mission
The tired groan you exhale, becomes my zephyr to set sail
You don't have to understand or even try
I'm just sad you felt you had to ask me why

I just needed your luv'n
That's why I kept on coming
That's why I kept on running to you
But now look at what you've gone and made me do…

So now I have to find somebody new…
When all I wanted was to be alone with you…

💥💥💥EXPLOSIVE💥💥💥 If I do say so myself!

Let me know what you think in the comments section. And please share with your circle…especially if it includes a DJ/Producer 😉