Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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Category: Autumn
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This snapshot titled "Hallucination" thumbs its nose at my whole #AmPresent vibe. It's not Christmas today, which is the point of my daily photographic reminders, i.e.: Here I am, smack-dab in the middle of having a moment and not I am ignoring the present to obsess over future events. Any oddball item or chance meeting…
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Maia stood in line at the Bean & Book, mug brought from home in one hand, thumb of the other tucked inside the waistband of her jeans. She tugged on the denim so it wouldn't rub against the rash on her belly. Dairy products gave Maia hives, but milky, sugar-packed and pumpkin-spiced coffee was her…
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cool weather makes a blue friday better. pull on some spirit. wear ya hair big. this rowdy crowd of 1 looks like a mix of medusa and rudolph. optical illusions for the win.
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Chance is a mile marker on the road between birth and death. Chance really means Supposed To Happen. Events occur as we cruise along life's highway. Outcomes, though? Beautifully complex is the study of unpredictability! We each walk a path littered with opportunities, and existence is heavy on the questions. Missed anything? Got it right?…
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ridges break airwaves. lifelines need to stretch, not snap. answer autumn's call.
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Daisy is happy she gets to eat fish kibble at her cousin's house. Dreams are sweet when you're swimming in a bowl of tails and scales and entrails. Daisy's dressed all festive for fall, too. Autumn gives us all sweater-and-scarf thoughts. No worries, pumpkin.
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What you are meant to have will show up on your porch eventually. It may be festively beribboned. It may sit at the bottom of a grease-stained Wendy's sack. "It" is the opportunity you work on in the quiet moments of a busy day. Or, in spurts of activity that come with the full moon.…
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She doesn't think I see her, but I do. Oh, I do. The ramshackle lady in flimsy pink flip-flops is a ghost. Is a ghost. We all haunt the places we miss the most. Even when the body is bound up by the present day, the spirit struggles to have its way. It asks: "Is…
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I'm a grown woman, for God's sake. I can leave the house for ten minutes and go for a walk. Can't they understand that? And then he runs out of the house, barefoot and clad in too-large-for-his-skinny-frame neon green pajamas. Maia and Pookie walk by this house nearly every day; she's never seen the boy…
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What is it I see?Forget the sickly green beans.Drumstick and roll, please.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 