The Tulip

squirrel, tulips, Louisa May AlcottHelen can’t identify the strange sonorous sounds coming from outside. Usually in her little corner of the world, the loudest noise early in the morning is the red squirrels arguing with each other as they sit on branches, trees apart.

But this sound is unfamiliar, not the high-pitched shrill squirrel bickering she’s used to. Helen runs out the front door, the spring rain falling on her as she instinctively looks upward. A strange looking plane is overhead. Old-fashioned propellers make a swishing sound, yet the beautiful light blue body is  sleek.  Helen notices the glint of sun on the front, which of course isn’t possible because it’s raining. But no – there, on the left horizon, blue sky emerges, along with an impossibly bright rainbow. rainbow Continue reading

Go with the (spring) Snow!

blog-snow-bToday, four days past the middle of March, I waken to the dreaded four-letter word.

S N O W.

But I decide to shovel away my disgruntlement of another wintry day and to exercise outside No Matter What. Normally I dislike the cold and the fear of falling on icy roadways, but after three months of this weather, and after meditating my breaths into ACCEPTANCE, I choose to go with the flow. Or in this case, Go with the Snow. Continue reading

A New Realm

fantasy, ghost storyRuby took a breath, and with a shaking hand, signed her name to the list.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ruby’s twin sister whispered in her ear. The trails of uncertainty in Trudy’s breath caused Ruby’s heart to thump thump thump.

Finishing the n in her last name “Rubicon” with flair, Ruby dropped the ancient fountain pen onto the solid oak table, which had been passed from generation to generation. She nodded a weak Yes. Continue reading

Snow Angel

snowstorm, New England winterI hate winter. I hate snow. I hate cold, I hate ice. I mutter these words as I climb out of my soul-less and hateful car, which has just broken down on Route 2 in the middle of a once-in-a-decade blizzard.

I can’t stay in the car because the engine is dead. Kaput. Lifeless and useless. I’ll freeze if I sit in the silver-metal icebox, so I trudge ahead, looking for some kind of sign of life.

And then I see it. Or her. Or whatever he/she/it/they is. A human-like form of gossamer silver and white, waving towards me. She (for I tend to think of angels as she), is either one-half a mile away, or two yards. With the snow whipping across my face it’s hard to tell. Continue reading