Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
Well, this is unexpected. Here I thought I’d planted filet beans. Avast, ye mildewed squash! Prepare to be boarded! Been over a century. New round of seeds every year for more the one hundred generations. And these changelings still crop up. They used to say plastic was the most enduring ill from those people. And… Continue reading Beans (Winifred Mumbles)
Silence was met with mostly silence. This is not unexpected. However there was more interest than I would have expected for a new thing, enough of it positive that I shall keep going. Stefanie, author of A Stone in the River, threw this up there: We think of silence as the absence of sound. But… Continue reading The Wednesday Word
Thomas Bloom was a professor. Business. He was not remarkable looking, talking, feeling, or thinking. The only remarkableness about Tom was an enormous lack of remarkableness. Bored freshmen amused themselves by pretending this apparent unremarkability constituted a cover for a secret identity of intrigue. Only for amusement. Could they have entered his mind, they would… Continue reading A Love Story for Bloomsday
I’ve thought of something I can do with Wednesdays! I participate in various prompts and puzzles on Twitter. I find it helps to keep an old mind limber, being forced to think and create using some idea that is not native to my brain. It forces new perspective. It’s also great fun. And it is… Continue reading The Wednesday Word
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)
By My Solitary Hearth 