Fabulous photos!!
Some humans relax in natural places,
and are less content in human spaces.
While other’s thrive in the social whirl,
a nature’s soul will find depth of meaning,
far from the thrum of a human being.
Nature’s souls go to wild spaces,
for it is here they find their sacred places.
Cheers to you from a nature’s soul~
Ooh! This was a special find! (See other Journal Kernels here) This was a dream that inspired The Last Bordello. See the short excerpt below.
Most nights, I see Papa in my dreams. In a slower-than-life pulse, in a not-so-common four-count measure, he smiles as he grabs the knob of our screen door and opens it to enter. His movement repeats. He smiles and opens the door. Smiles and opens the door. Each time, he never enters. He never falls.
But Papa did fall; collapsed before crossing our threshold into the house his neighbors helped him to build. Four years ago now, all of the notes of Papa’s life faded away with his last breath. A stillness so loud that my ears still burned.
If only Papa hadn’t died.
Looking forward to meeting you!
More of these “kernels.” Before long, I might have a whole cob!! Maybe even start remembering past events!
“Skimming through these old treasures, I had this thought: “What if I shared kernels, bits of my past from numerous journal entries?”
So, here I go, making myself vulnerable. Again.” – from Raw Journal Kernels- 1 and 2.
I remember now! Vacationing in Whistler, Canada.
At age fifteen, Sadie Sated Timothy – from The Last Bordello.
It started the day Timothy and me sat on a gentle slope on the banks of Geronimo Creek between the honey mesquite and Texas spur grass. He’d snuck a bottle of whiskey from home and had been thoughtful enough to bring crackers and a small chunk of cheese to our Sunday afternoon picnic. I was smitten with the boy, the twin to my best friend, Kat.
He spread the blanket and, for the first time, I spread my legs. The weight of him, slight as it was, felt like a made-to-fit blanket.
He was finished before I had the chance to feel him inside of me. “I might only be fifteen,” I said, laughing. “But I don’t think that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”
Offended at first, Timothy managed a grin. “Then I guess we need to try it again.”
Then I caught sight of the ugly housedress that Lucinda, my so-called mother, wore almost daily. Ugly like her character. Ugly like her words. Stupid like her Bible-mouth that preached how Jesus would protect her yet Lucinda wouldn’t get up on a ladder if her life depended on it.
She split us apart, yanked me up by the hair, and ruined my favorite dress as she dragged me home.
“You miserable bitch,” I screamed. “Just because you couldn’t keep my father at home doesn’t mean I have to be a spinster. I love him! Love him! Any time Timothy wants me to pleasure him, I’ll be willing and ready.”
Lucinda slapped me. I slapped back, harder. She fell on the warped flooring of our kitchen and dabbed a finger at the corner of her bloodied lip.
For the next two weeks, we didn’t speak. Still, I heard her mumble on occasion, “Ticktock, ticktock. They’ll put you under key and lock.” I didn’t pay attention to those words. I should have.
Just for fun!
“Skimming through these old treasures, I had this thought: “What if I shared kernels, bits of my past from numerous journal entries?”
So, here I go, making myself vulnerable. Again.” – from Raw Journal Kernels- 1
Note: most of the journal entries were written years back at a coffee shop before hitting the gym next door.
Wrote this after visiting a small town where a small home sat a few feet away from a funeral home.
So beautiful!
Hello fellow bloggers! For those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, as well as those of you who do not,
Wishing you the very best and thank you for the follow!
Since my laptop took over, I haven’t journaled in many years. But, as you can see, I used to.
Skimming through these old treasures, I had this thought: “What if I shared kernels, bits of my past from numerous journal entries?”
So, here I go, making myself vulnerable. Again.
Please note: In order to be true to myself and to my fellow followers, this and upcoming entries are raw, unedited and scanned into this blog.
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 