Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
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 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
This is from a work in progress. I feel like it's a good time to air it out a bit. The cave is always a place where worlds collided, a seam between This and Other. This cave was forged in collision — continents crashing together, volcanic spasms spewing molten rock, mountains thrust to the cold… Continue reading Collision: Prologue
She went to the well every morning. She, and every other girl in the village. Every morning to the well to gather the water necessary for washing, cooking, drinking, brewing — all of which she would also do. Every day. Every morning she went to the well in the village common. But not this morning. … Continue reading The Well
There were no shadows in the winds that day… Mom had diabetes. Turns out intermittent refrigeration wasn’t the only hazard awaiting the insulin-dependent. No, in the end it was a few years of consecutive losses for Eli Lily. Granted, this was largely because of the increased cost of refrigerated shipping, but still. The problem wasn’t… Continue reading Candlemas Augury
And he saw his shadow… The barn door knocks against its frame, sending staccato signals into the night. Nobody out there to interpret the message. All these ghost ranchitos. Only me in here, and I know the message: that barn door needs to be rehung. If I can find the hardware. I watch as the… Continue reading Sunny Day Forecast
By My Solitary Hearth 