The old, warty toad waddled on creaking, spindly legs over to his friend. Tishbit was quite blind yet had managed…
Then she just comes out with it.
Ever talk to your soul?
Haha he says, and averts his eyes.
Huh. She turns away to leave and then throws this comment over her shoulder. Neglect is death by a thousand cuts.
The heart is disturbingly grudging about dislodging offences that, built over time like a fortress, strives like a searing poker to protect the mind, will and emotions of the soul by disabling pain and feeling, yet all the while hardening the heart into coal.
But a grievance is something not quickly forgotten,
And without a pardon, it’s quick to revive.
…it claws to the surface with only one purpose:
The problem ain’t dead, it’s just buried alive.
It flickered and glowed and murmured to us; Mesmerizing, tantalizing, synchronizing our thoughts together in those moments that stretched between eventide and starlight. When had the banter and light laughter stopped? It was so peaceful, so calm. As the darkness deepened, night chill set in, and one by one everyone left for the warmth of indoors and bed
The woodlands are filled with drama. Raven’s dive-bomb grosbeak, chickadees, grackles and jays, Great Horned Owls seek and destroy Northern Flying squirrels and their red cousins, while woodpeckers girdle the bark off of LodgePole pines and spruce trees. Bees buzz, dragonflies dart and flies bite. Even growing vegetables or greens is a conscientious exercise, deer and moose have no qualms about sharing the garden any more than a coyote nabbing your cat…
A gaze that turned chance into a tryst wrapped in sanctity, cloaking all inhibitions in a perfect imperfection and magic like fairy dust writing each moment and the present straining like wild horses to merge with an unwritten future…