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Posts Tagged ‘humor’

“Go ahead, you can pet her.  It’s okay.”

Little Britches eyed his father suspiciously, even at the ripe old age of two; he’d mastered the art of discernment.

Little Britches’ father was his hero. Still, he wasn’t totally convinced that petting that little bunting cow at the edge of the deck sniffing lilacs was in his best interest.  Heck, the cows buddy, a young golden lab, knocked him over in exuberant body wriggling, tail wagging licking episodes – and, that farm dog wasn’t as big as the mini black cow with the white face they called Mable!

Little Britches shoved his hands deep into the pocket of his jeans and shifted his weight from one rubber boot to the other, his bright inquiring eyes peering up at his father from below his Blue Jays ball cap. He needed a tidbit more encouragement before attempting, “Mission: touch-the-cow!” (more…)

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You’re being watched…

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The North American Buffalo (Bison) Calf;

Otherwise known as a Bobblehead…

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Antelope

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“I am a weaver; a weaver of words.

Writers are weavers of words.

I am a writer. 

Oh, what tales we Weaver’s weave when our well scripted words are spun together into a magical yarn.

I am a writer; a weaver of magical yarns. 

I am a Weaver; a weaver of magical yarn.

I am a Weaver.”

 

 

I have always been a fan of folklore, myths and parables.  Recently, I came across the story of a Wise old Weaver woman hidden in a cave. Every culture has mystical tales that tell of Weaver’s hidden in places unknown or away from civilization.  Their only company a big black dog. They weave beautiful capes, robes or blankets with ethereal cords from the cosmos which are never completed because chaos (the dog) intervenes to unravel their work, at which point the Weaver’s begin again.  The myth is that if the Weaver ever completes their work, the world will end.  These Weaver’s have been creating this article of beauty since the beginning of time.

During the winter months, I began to weave.  It all started because of boredom.  I am an active person.  I don’t deal well with boredom.  Boredom led me toward the need to purge.  It’s astounding the amount of items that one accumulates and then holds on to for no real reason.  The time had come for me to remove needless items from my home – make more space – let’s say; in those dark, shadowy closeted spaces one like me hesitates to venture into.

I read a piece of prose by Andrew The Lonely Author at www.thelonelyauthorblog.com ; it started with, “love hung in her closet,” what an enchanting thought!

I am a little terrified of what might be hanging in my closets – cobwebs and skeletons.  But, there is proper timing for everything and the time for purging was now. (more…)

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When I’m in my happy place but, your misery wants my company;

Read my lips:

“Do you really want to go there?”

#save the rhino’s

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The word for today is “thing”.

I have developed a fondness for the word “thing”- albeit, it is somewhat of a love/hate relationship.

My use of the word “thing,” usually coincides with episodes in my life where I know that if I am using the word “thing,” I am experiencing some type of mental block.  At these times, it is as if the universal vacuum has descended from above to clean out my cranium.  Just like any other vacuum, the universal one can accidentally suck up useful things as well as cobwebs.

The universal vacuum likes information.  And, just for your information, I am all for loosing such things that constitute life’s most embarrassing moments from my memory bank.

But does it really need to suck out my brain’s capacity to access its inner dictionary?

At such seemingly unintellectual times; those I can only define as brain dead moments, it makes me wonder – where’s the thing?  Meaning, my brain! (more…)

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I’ve seen the Thunder Birds again.  They’re dark ominous creatures, larger than their brothers the eagle.  They’re accompanied by lightning bolts and thunder.  At one time I feared their appearance.  Now, I realize Thunder Birds warn me not to give my fear power. (more…)

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Amarelle

Amarelle’s eyes filled with knowing and fear upon hearing disembodied words that intoned those of Nell.  She shrunk from the sound of her kind mentor’s out-of-body voice as it spoke to her and her alone – words unheard by others who were not gifted at hearing the spirits beyond.  To Amarelle, Nell’s soft sounding voice seemed like a merciless sting.  One could only feel a stab like that if they had conscience then acted against it.   Guilt’s vice like grip clenched at Amarelle’s stomach causing her to lurch forward.  It made her feel sick.  (more…)

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