Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
They came for me as I was grinding the last of the roasted spelt. My sisters stood by with downcast eyes. I did not know who of them believed in my innocence. I found that I was troubled by this. I would go to my death willingly, but I was unwilling to let the ravenous… Continue reading Immolation
oh yes you — just once i’ve wanted to flow as i am just once because i get lost in my own creation i wish you could join me always alone in my corner you — it’s so odd, but i was right i am truly insane because i arrive at the same conclusions and… Continue reading Solitary
There is such a thing as honor. We denizens of a world much debased and disdainful often forget the word. But ought we? For it still thrives, thrives despite disregard. Honor impeached can stir even the most jaded heart to irrational revenge. Yes, even in this post-modern, ultra-civilized world. And we, voyeurs, stare gape-mouthed in… Continue reading Honor
This is something I've had around for a long time. I'd like it to be a picture book some day. As I have little else in my head right now (other than "ouch" — what with new gardens and box cutters and a number of other stressors) I thought I might share this with you.… Continue reading A Children’s Story
The seventh moon of the year is the Flower Moon, or the Faerie Moon. It is new between 23 April and 21 May. It is full between 7 May and 4 June. This is the time of riotous blossom and rainbow color splashed everywhere. You can cut vases of fresh flowers every morning and still… Continue reading The May Blood Moon
i remember. the smell of water on dust. the sound of birdsong in the soft morning light. the chiaroscuro texture of resin beads on juniper needles. i remember walking. walking. walking. mama at my side. i remember heat. and death. i remember the lost. i remember coming to this place. it’s been seven decades by… Continue reading Memory (Winifred Mumbles)
I'm still absorbed in nesting... and nursing my abused hands... because rheumatoid arthritis does not do curtain hardware in rock maple without intense retribution. So here is a bit of poetry... of sorts. free from words solitary is alone. alone is one. solitary is one. but one is not necessarily solitary. i often wish i… Continue reading Poetry
It might have gone this way. If we'd not burned up all the leftover dinosaurs and tree ferns, it might be about time for this inter-glacial period to end. Imagine climate change without fossil fuels. It began with a few cold summers. The early ones were written off to variously benign causes. Volcanic eruptions. Changing… Continue reading Collision: The Alternative
I am not going. Get that through your stubborn head! Deirdre closed the door — gently — turned her back to it and slid to the floor. She wished, not for the first time, that just once she’d have the pluck to speak her mind. Just once she’d like to not feel like a timid… Continue reading Collision: Some Are Chosen
This particular passage is why I decided to air out this WIP this particular week. Fintan stood on the front steps and drew a deep breath before going into his house. The mail carrier drove up behind him and dumped a pile of catalogs in their box. Now Fintan knew time was wonky. The mail… Continue reading Collision: On Home
By My Solitary Hearth 