Archive for October, 2010

NaNo Novel beginning?

Once upon a time, there was a village, le village de rêves. It was tucked far back in the mountains of California. The Sierra Nevada mountains, when one thinks of them, generally bring about feelings of cold beauty, but in the tiny town, tucked in a small valley in their midst, there was nothing but warmth all year round. Call it a miracle, call it a strange twist of geography, but the angle of the town was situated in such a way that cold winds rarely fell on them, even when the sun was covered over with snow clouds. The town had been settled over 200 years before; before the gold rush, before the civil war, before the revolutionary war. A Frenchman, shortly after his company of explorers first arrived in what would one day become California, had wandered away from his company, and, lost in the cold mountain range, was on the verge of death when he was rescued. No one, to this day, quite knows truly how he was rescued, but he insisted to the day he died that he had seen a fairy – or perhaps an angel – beckoning to him in the distance. Forcing himself to rise from the snow in which he had fallen, he walked toward her, and the closer he got, the warmer he became. Down the mountain she led him, and, just as he reached her, she disappeared. With her disappearance , however, he saw clearly in front of him trees filled with green leaves, growing in green grass. Running toward them, he made his way through the small wood, and came out into a beautiful land, devoid of snow or cold of any kind, running with clear, fresh mountain springs, fields of flowers, and sunshine. le village de rêves he named it, vowing never to leave. And he never did. Plenty of fruit trees, fresh water, soil for gardening, and animals for hunting and warmth abounded in that small village. How then, one might ask, did it become populated by more than just one man? In a story as old as time, the Frenchman heard, the following spring, a cry for help in the mountains. Going as far as the edge of the trees of the village, he looked up into the snowy rocks, and saw a young woman stumbling about. “Here!” He cried, beckoning to her, as had once an angel beckoned to him. Following his voice, the woman turned her head, and beheld both him and the trees. The Frenchman brought the Englishwoman home, warmed her, fed her, and then, with God as witness, married her.


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Protected: Another Sleepless Night

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Frozen Flowers

A man sat in the middle of a forest, in the middle of a garden, in the middle of a bench. Or was it a man? Perhaps it was a boy. He looked very like a lost little boy sitting in the midst of frozen flowers. Funny thing about the first, unexpected frost. If one looks out the window very early the morning of the first frost, he sees all the last flowers, glazed over. One moment they were alive, happy, blooming—one cold wind, and they are encased in a sheet of glassy ice. You can see the beauty and happiness they once were, yet, with the encasing around them, you can no longer touch that beauty—and you know it is only a short matter of time before they die. It is this way with hearts too; most people do not discover that, however, until it is too late. This man, like so many before him, learned this the hard way. He had taken for granted a heart that belonged to him. And now it was too late. She had her heart encased in an ice he couldn’t safely melt, and he was left in a lonely place that was once filled with warmth and love.

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