Flash-fiction. Ravens and Crows aren’t quite the same bird.
“I’ve grounded and centered and counted to ten – to fifty, even. I’ve done the incantation. I’ve drunk the calming tea, and no matter what I do, I cannot banish the thoughts of Unkindness for longer than a couple of minutes.”
“Unkindness? Unkindness?” The women tilted her head one way then another, peering at him from one bright eye at a time. “But, you’re not a Raven. You’re a Crow.”
This week’s Sunday Brunch column – thoughts on Community.
As is the nature of living organisms, Communities ebb and flow. Sometimes you’ll have intense relationships with only a few members of a community and more casual ones with the rest. Sometimes you’ll feel like there are people who don’t ‘get’ you, or you don’t really understand. I’ve come to learn that this is normal. It’s not bad or wrong, it’s just life.
Flash-fic, read by Selena Taylor. Life finds a way.
She scooped the transparent fish out of the water, expecting it to gasp in desperation, but it seemed completely tranquil, suspended between her hands as content as it had seemed in the tide pool where she’d found it.
This episode is SUPER RAMBLY! In a departure from her usual offering of stories, the Bathtub Mermaid discusses her first adventure with CSA.
CSA – Community Sustained Agriculture. I received my first farmbox today. I was going to do a live unboxing, but it was too noisy – dogs were barking, a squall was forming. So I’m talking about it instead. Well, rambling, really.
Mandy stopped using pencils when she was six, except for math. She moved beyond wide-ruled paper when she was seven, and they sent her to Special Education to learn cursive because the Advanced Reading workbook had bits of cursive in it. She likes writing in cursive, but some things have to be printed.
Inspiration comes from odd places… and sometimes things get creepy.
As I was looking for art to help me write the story, I stumbled across an article from a few months earlier about a homeowner in the Lone Mountain neighborhood of San Francisco – that’s the neighborhood around University of San Francisco, where I went to school – finding a sealed coffin under the garage floor during a remodel.
These doors don’t have the kind of locks that rattle, but if we’re sitting in the living room, just reading by the fire or maybe watching television (I admit, we watch far too much television) we sometimes feel a faint breeze, as if the seal between the two doors has been tested and found to be slightly lacking.
They stare up at me, waiting, their luminous eyes large, and tracking my every move. Every flash of my knife makes their heads twitch a little bit. Every time they hear the blade contact the wooden block they flinch slightly, moving one foot just a little bit, then easing it back into its starting position.