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Posts Tagged ‘short story’

Like Old Mother Hubbard, I had nothing in my cupboard. It was bare – and our barnyard was empty too.

I had a hankering for some fresh eggs and at the price of eggs today, well; it felt more frugal to get some chickens than drive to the store and buy a carton of eggs.

I missed having chickens.  There are so many things a person can do with eggs.  They were a staple in any kitchen.  It was a pity I was out.

If only I could get my hands on three or four layer chickens and perhaps a rooster… 

Hens lay eggs daily and if the rooster did his job perhaps one of the hens would go broody and hatch a few chicks. I smiled. It was a project worthy of dreaming about. Then again, why dream when one can make it a reality, it never costs anything to ask a question.  

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I have reached a plateau. It has been an uphill battle to get to this spot.  The journey has been fraught with chaos and malicious energy.  I am exhausted and need rest. I survey my surroundings and notice that this is not actually a resting spot.  It is a cross road.  I can choose from four directions.  I can veer left or right, go back the direction I came from or continue uphill.  Surely, the path upward looks to be more work.  Both paths which veer left or right seem to be level.  But neither of those paths interests me. I know from experience those paths are diversions. Personal success takes longer to achieve when you walk along the path of others. I am independent. I want to discover my own path.  My path is always harder.  I prefer to travel unknown, uncharted paths – those seldom traveled. So, I know that from the four directions my choice path is the one which continues uphill. 

Energy swirls about me pulling to and fro.  Malicious. Chaotic.  Instinct tells me that this is the energy one faces when they are about to self-sabotage or are being set up to fail but strive forward in order succeed instead.

I sway first left, then right but the frantic, hostile energy that wants me falter and tumble backwards is vehement.  The resistance from the heinous darkness pushes back and forth against me causing friction. 

It is unwanted energy and it is rubbing me the wrong way.

Sparks are beginning to erupt.  Patiently, I smother them but really, time is not on my side.  I have limited resources; constraints prevent me from effectively battling the unwanted friction and the continual onslaught of unwelcomed energy is beginning to mess with my mind. This maliciousness is presenting as a head game. I want to explode.  My sanity is waning. I can feel the heat within me building.  The sparks are beginning to smoulder into a fire – the fire is rage. 

I decide to stand quietly at the plateau of the crossroad and breathe.

Breath work is a subtle technique that can be used to bring abhorrent friction into a more malleable static energy. Static energy is still charged.  It isn’t energy I like; but, static energy can be endured and will remain unchanged or even dissipate as long as no extra friction is introduced.  Subtle techniques to quiet friction are not always successful.

I am being battered. This heinous, dark energy seems to be taking advantage of the subtle energy – it’s growing harsher – biting at my psyche.  It is affecting my ability to think clearly.

 

No matter, I am a Master there are other methods I can employ to quiet the friction.  But, my methods are all subtle and rather than quieting the chaotic energy, extra friction charges the atmosphere around and within me.  The harassing energy has entered my very core – goading, irritating and threatening to infect me with its disease like qualities. An inner war has been declared and I struggle against this dark force which wants me to cause harm or even drive me to kill. Lesser adversaries have succumbed to these malicious energy sources. They’ve gone mad, driven to insanity by the barrage of negativity that infects their mind.

I summon my inner strength in preparation for the fight. I must maintain my clarity of thought.

The malevolent taunting, jeering energy pokes dirty fingers into my brain as it stirs and beats at my sanity twisting rational thoughts into mayhem.  I am being attached from three different directions.  My patience is spent.  I am wearing down, becoming exhausted.  My mental and emotional stability continues until completely fatigued, my resolution of peace dissolves.

Frustration and anxiety are wholly apparent. I am now realizing my inability to control that, which cannot be controlled – every action is begging for a reaction. 

True, I am undergoing an inner battle. I have an acute awareness of this. However, inner-battles will grow until they burst outward. 

It’s, fight or flight time. My nerves are raw.  My jaws are clenched.  Tension runs up my backbone.  My hands are clenched into fists.  I have settled into a battle stance and ready to move if one more irritant attacks.

I know what I want and, it’s not this!

I cannot take being rubbed the wrong way any longer; the friction attacking my inner boundary is unbearable. Fiery rage leaps upward as I burst into heated flames.  I manage to control the fire.  It was merely a short burst of intense heat meant to cremate noxious emotional energy. Nothing has been severely damaged although there is a blackened mark where I once stood at the crossroads. The outburst left but a small blister on the face of the earth, a scar which would heal by encouraging new growth. And, by undertaking the difficult task of expelling negative energy, I have now been propelled forward on my path uphill.  The action was necessary for positive development to occur.

Still, I am shaky and exhausted.  I did not want to erupt into fire. The war against malicious energy drained me mentally, physically and emotionally.  But, I gained ground as a result and successfully stepped onto my own path. This is a path of the unknown. It is uncharted territory, this path that proceeds at a steady, gentle, uphill grade and is one where if the traveler is mindful, they will meet success by taking positive strides forward. 

I survey the path ahead with tired eyes.  I can see the first marker to my success is only a few feet away.  I move my feet forward slowly, one by one, it is a methodical shuffling movement – no need to hurray now.  I give myself permission to move slowly and conserve my energy until I reach the marker.  My reward is a well deserved rest.  I need to unplug for a time before continuing on.

Change takes time. 

Healing takes time.

I arrive at the marker and take a seat.  This is the most comfortable spot I have discovered in a very long time.  I feel protected here.  As I sit relaxed, I notice how as the world rolls by, I am no longer affected by its friction.   I am grateful for this time to rest; even the most masterful of Guru’s need a brain-break to recuperate from mental chaos.

Stress is exhausting.

Give yourself permission to take a rest.

Unplug.

Chaos and friction in life will always be present. 

There will be times in life when you are rubbed the wrong way and will need to address friction.  Remember, subtly does not always successfully diffuse friction.  In those cases, be tactful; use control; take the higher road – you will save someone from heartache by doing so, even if that someone is you.

Take small steps forward.

If all else fails, simply take a brain-break!

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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The camera lay around the photographer’s neck at the ready as he traversed the paved path through the cities park.  His sharp eyes had spotted nothing of interest thus far.  Once or twice he’d put the camera to his eye and snapped a picture just see if anything came to light once developed.  But, today, the subject matter along this path fell short of what he deemed worthy to capture along his daily hike.

He gazed up at the sky and wondered if rain would fall from roils of brooding grey clouds above him. Dismal, that is what the day was.  This park was dismal and empty as well – no subject matter or maybe; he was just bored of the same ol’, same ol’.

His mood was beginning to match the atmosphere – dark and foreboding, such a waste of his efforts thus far with his camera.  This path, a tried and true one, was a bust.  Perhaps if he were to deviate from this path and take the detour ahead toward the water’s edge, it would scare up something interesting to photograph.

He stepped on the narrow dirt trail and followed it as it wound downward toward the river’s edge ducking wayward branches and stepping over deadfall as hiked toward the water.  Not far in the distance, he could see an opening in the trail that opened to the river.  Not a great photo but he knelt and snapped a picture which depicted how opposites can sometimes enhance one another. It was a serene entrance guarded by what appeared to be atmospheric turbulence in the distance. It should have a sign posted that reads, “Enter at your own risk,” he thought crassly.

The disturbing and depressing inner revelation of his own mind surprised him. No matter, he shrugged.  Darkness can be corrected. Lightness and color could be added via filters which would enhance beauty where nature lacked it.  

He continued forward with renewed purpose, that is when he spotted a target worthy enough to freeze in time. 

If only he could capture the moment!

Quietly, he slid into position.  First kneeling and then adjusting himself into the prone position.

He reached for the camera and removed the lens cap while he stalked the target with his eyes. 

She belied beauty as she sat unaware of his presence on a felled tree, mesmerized by the lapping, flowing water at the river’s edge.

The frailty of the target in a moment of serene strength had him awe struck.  Her beauty glowed against the angry, brooding clouds in the back-ground and portrayed the mood which this picture would encapsulate.  It was perfect. She was beautiful.

He’d call this potential award winner, “Moody Blue.”  He could see this infamous picture framed in gold.

Slowly, deliberately, he moved the camera to his eye, first playing with the focus then readying his finger to snap the shot.  He could feel the excitement build; his heart pounded and his breath quickened as he fought to steady it in this moment where perfection lingered at his finger-tip.  It wouldn’t do to ruin this picture with a shaky hand. A photographer, like any good hunter, needs a steady hand to shoot its target – breath control is everything.  His breath eased slowly from his lips as his index finger hovered ready for action.

“Steady,” he breathed as a clap of thunder erupted above him and a wisp of wind drove a raindrop into his eye. Jerking in surprise, he snapped the shot.

When he opened his eyes again, his target had vanished as had the perfect moment in time.

Years later, the photographer admits to pulling out the discarded, wayward snap shot.  He says it still makes him feel moody and blue. Yet, he continues to wonder what would have happened if he’d had the courage to talk to the beauty on the river’s edge that day instead of trying to freeze her – unaware – in a moment of time.  

His only award from that day is in a still memory.  What might have been a picture perfect moment gilded in gold is now only something locked away in his personal memory bank for no other but him to admire.

And, ‘Moody Blue,’ that’s the depression he feels on days with roiling grey clouds devoid of a picturesque beauty. They remind him of the gloomy rain day when he missed a moment meant to be frozen in time only to re-live a harsh lesson from time to time – when you live your life through a lens, don’t blink or you’ll miss it.

 

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commentingThe Trefoil Muse

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“Who let the dogs out?”

The Sun let the dogs out!

Obviously, the Sun’s dogs needed out for a good run, perhaps they’d been penned up for too long of a stretch or maybe they just needed to get out and howl at the full moon last week.  Dogs can be very insistent when they want outside.  Madam Sun probably coined the term, ‘hounded!’  In which case, I am totally able to relate to her or even sympathize!

Dog Owner Beware!

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The horse and rider paused at the crest of the hill.

“Should we take the wagon trail home or cut through the coulee, Mari-bell?” Sarah asked unsure of her own mind.  If they took the wagon trail, it would take her another 5 miles to reach the ranch, an easy ride in good weather like it had been that morning but potentially deadly in the inclement weather which had suddenly appeared.  She wasn’t prepared for this.

It had been unusually mild weather for January, like a spring day – they called these warm winds Chinooks she’d been told. They were “snow eaters,” that lasted from hours to days.  Water had been dripping from the barn roof forming streamlets and pockets of water on her path to the barn.  She side-stepped numerous puddles on the way to retrieve her little golden mare with creamy mane and tail.  Mari-bell had nickered her usual soft greeting when Sarah opened the barn door.

She had loved Mari-bell from the first moment she’d laid eyes on her.   Her father had threatened to sell her at first.  “Too small for any of the ranch hands,” he’d said but Sarah rallied for the little palomino.  “The horse has a huge heart,” he’d admitted after seeing the girl and horse work cattle.  “She won’t quit until the job’s done and did everything and more that you asked of her Sarah!”  The girl and horse had an unnatural bond he figured after seeing how the two responded to one another. In the end, he relented and gave the mare to his daughter. It was a rarity not to see the horse and girl together now-a-days.

Mari-bell perked her ears forward and arched her neck over the edge of the stall as Sarah approached.  “Too warm for this thick woolen sweater Mother knit for me at Christmas that’s for sure Mari-bell,” Sarah crooned to the horse as she shed her jacket then removed the heavy sweater and hung it on the peg by the stall.  “A long sleeved shirt and jacket are all I’ll need today.”  She grinned as she pat the horse on the side of the neck, led her to the door of the barn, mounted and trotted away from the ranch toward the school.

How she wished she still had that sweater now! (more…)

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Stone Soup is a folktale about sharing during a time of hardship.

The age old tale begins with the arrival of a poor starving beggar at depression struck Village.  The Villagers hardly have enough provisions for themselves so refuse to feed this stranger.  The beggar then offers to share his meal with them. Obviously, the beggar has no food but he is an alchemist.  The magic begins when he adds a stone to a boiling pot of water. Curious, the untrusting Villagers gathered around the beggar to watch as he prepared the special soup.  Since none of the villagers had enough in there larder to share with others, they found the generosity of the poor beggar peculiar.

“What are you doing?” they asked.

He smiled politely at the unfriendly villagers while he wordlessly placed his pot of makeshift soup over a fire.

“I’m making stone soup.  It’s delicious.  I’ll be glad to share it with all of you when I’m finished.”

The villagers watched in awe as the beggar dipped his ladle into the mixture and tasted it. (more…)

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