my best dream

It was five years ago today,
We went up the mountain to say,
Promises of love and adventure,
Trials and triumphs,
Sorrows and joys,
But love and adventure most of all.

How have the years passed so quickly?
How is it possible for our bond to have grown exponentially?

Where will our family be in five more years?
Side by side, wherever we end up, I’ll have no fears.

I love you, my Queen,
You are, come true, my best dream.

Wedding - TOS walking away

I’m a fool, too

How much longer can we continue to function as the divide between our two halves grows exponentially?  Finger pointing.  Name calling.  Ostracizing.  Claiming we all want to be more united, but judging each other so harshly in the process that we become hypocrites in words and actions.

Hypocrites and fools.

I shake my head at the lot of us.

Because your words confuse and hurt me and my first instinct is to hurt you back.  I want to find the stats that refute the ones you threw in my face.  I want to argue my beliefs and values that run counter to yours.  I want to pull you from your pedestal, from your pulpit, from your soap box and leave you confused and hurting on the ground.


Then what?

Would that solve anything?


So, when you post your political rants,  your blues are wingnuts diatribes, your reds are morons ventings, I won’t be liking, I won’t be commenting.  I’m not going to add my foolish voice to yours.  It’s loud enough in here already.


And you, dear kingdomites?

Do you like reading political posts?  Do you like jumping into the fray and arguing your side of the debate?  Or, have you grown tired of the fighting too?

the battle

The Prince strode confidently to the field of battle and stared into the endless stretch of darkness that rose to meet him.  He had fought this faceless foe before, many times, without victory but he was undeterred.  He would fight on again and again regardless of the outcome because it was his nature to do so.  No retreat.  No surrender.

His parents, his guardians and fiercest supporters, urged him forward.  They wanted him to meet the enemy head on, and while he was confused by their desire to see him enter the fray so frequently, he trusted they wouldn’t let him come to any true harm.  He hoped, in time, he would understand their motives.

With one last look into each of their faces for confirmation that they once again wished him to meet the encroaching darkness, and receiving nods of assent, he pulled forth Scream, his mightiest weapon, and hurled himself into the clutches of the evil foe.

The darkness clutched at him and he used Scream to fend it off.  Brandishing the weapon to the left and to the right, tensing his muscles, throwing every ounce of his strength into his counterattacks, he managed to hold his ground for a long time.  His parents sang songs of his ancestors, encouraging him, lending him resolve and calming his nerves.  He fed off that energy and his battle gained momentum, for a change he was fairing better against his nemesis.

But, the longer the battle raged, the more tired he grew.  Scream became unwieldy and difficult to control.  His muscles weakened.  His eyelids grew heavy.  The cool clutches of the darkness recognized its chance to pounce and quickly conquered the young hero.

In the background his parents sighed with relief, kissed his little forehead, and wished him sweet dreams.

Be Prepared for “Returning Home” by Matthew Blashill


Tony, you know, the one with A Way With Words, has graciously written a nice little review of my contribution to Fauxpocalypse. Pop on over and check it out. And while you are there make sure you check up on his “Delight in Disorder.”

Originally posted on A Way With Words:


Matthew Blashill, the very generous jester from The Matticus Kingdom, kindly sent me a copy of the book fauxpocalypse: a collection of short fiction about the end of the world that wasn’t. I recently had the good fortune of reading his entry in the collection, entitled, “Returning Home,” which I found very intriguing.

The story begins with a terrible hang-over. Alicia Stern and her friends have, in true hedonistic fashioned partied their way through the projected night the world was supposed to end and, as the sun rises on another day, she finds herself ill prepared to meet it. Looking at the signs of consumption around her and reflecting on the wasteland within her she does what many red-blooded American young folk do. She blames someone else.

She cursed her parents under her breath for raising her on the farm… It was their fault she hadn’t turned into a big…

View original 456 more words

step forward

 photo cavern_zps952a3632.jpg
Credit: National Geographic

He paused at the cusp of the portal and gazed into the depths of his new home.  Logic dictated that he was making the right decision but his emotional ties to the land were impossible to ignore.  He would miss the warmth of the sun caressing his skin, the feel of a cool breeze tousling his hair, and the crunch of fresh snow under his boots.  Most of all, though, he would miss the views from the mountain passes and valley floors.  Those sights had sustained him through the darkest of his adventures.

He had lived through more than his fair share of adventures.  His new life wouldn’t change that.  Nothing would change that.  His destiny was to wander forever, journey through the worlds, and experience all they had to offer.  And the time had come to finally slip into the dark realms of the hidden waterways.  Then he would see what waited for him there.

Mountains and valleys of a different sort, beasts to discover, currents for roads and trails, points previously unknown and never imagined…

Stepping into the pool that would transport him below he noticed that the water accepted him without complaint.  No tendrils of movement, no wake, no ebb and flow as the water parted to make room for him.  It knew who he was and was ready to receive him and allow him access to the secrets kept in the bowels of its recesses.  He took another step and his body adapted to the cold.  He took another step and his mind forgot the sun and wind and the snow as the water rose to his chest.

Pausing again, he clawed desperately at the memories of his beloved mountains, hoping to ensnare them and carry them with him always.  But, he had already lost the sun pouring over the high canyon walls to provide warmth on the cold mornings.  He had already lost the whispering trees set to their gossip by an afternoon breeze running down the valley.  He had already lost the crisp tingling of joy and hope and life that came with the first snow each year.  The memories were all tied together so that those which meant the most meant nothing without the small details most considered inconsequential.

There was nothing left to stay his forward progress and so he took the final step through the portal and vanished.


So… yeah.  I’m not really sure what to say about this one.  It didn’t end where I thought it was going to.  Once I started writing the words took me to a completely different place than I had planned on.  I decided to leave it as is, though, so you could take the same journey I took.

But, I’d also love to read what journey you would take on your own with this picture.  Write it, link it to this week’s Once More With Feeling Post, and the post it so we can all take your journey with you too.


Whatever it will be…



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