The unknown beckons,
a flash of darkness calling,
with silent echoes.
Can you hear them too?
Isn’t it time to meet me
there?
The unknown beckons,
a flash of darkness calling,
with silent echoes.
Can you hear them too?
Isn’t it time to meet me
there?
“And this brings me to my next point,” Merwegon said, her finger pointing, in turn, at each of the members of the small group gathered around her.
“It is never all in your own head. Never. Whether we believe it or not, we always depend on knowledge stored in the collective consciousness. At the time of specific need, the tendrils of our mind reach out to access the facts, opinions, stories, legends, and myths of all the contents of eternity.
“The quality of the transmission back to your brain depends on how hard you have worked to maintain the health of your mind tendrils. This is done by cultivation of clarity.
“If you don’t also minimize the static in your physical neurons, by proper lifestyle, you won’t be able to isolate the wisdom signal.”
Merwegon sat down, and looked, in turn, at each of her disciples, coming to rest, with a longer gaze, on the face of Alitonia.
Super Flash Fiction
“Who’s sorry now?” Juliana demanded, her face glistening in the streaky light of the late city night.
George stared down in disbelief, as the contents of the bottle of single malt joined the rain water rushing into the storm drain.
“Who’s sorry now?” Juliana repeated.
Drowning in peaches, peaches, peaches.
You have to be drowning, you have to have access to and responsibility for the tree.
Otherwise you’d eat the peaches as they ripen. Only when you have too many peaches, some inevitably go past the stage of perfection to a stage of super-perfection. Because that’s when they are sweetest and most full flavored. And when you get them off the tree that way, starting to ferment a bit, turning brown in the pit, maybe some bad spots that you have to cut away, those are the ones that make me want to have my own peach trees. Those are the ones that make it worth going through all the work of pruning and fertilizing and all the rest of it.
This was a great year for peaches. I had help in the orchard and thinned the fruit. The result was some really big and beautiful peaches.
Here’s my poem…
Peaches, peaches, peaches.
Not straight from the tree.
Even the warm ones bursting with flavor are too fuzzy straight from the tree.
Mother Nature’s fuzz functions too well.
Rub first in running water.
Cut along the edge of the pit. Grasp the halves and twist.
Open mouth. Bite. Turn so the flesh is down on the tongue.
Chew. Sweetness and flavor explode.