School was out for the summer at last. Families toured the bird reserve.
Everyone seemed happy, except poor Lillith, neatly spinning her web on a high post that she hoped would be out of the view of visitors who may not like her. She was beautiful, a young Black and Yellow Argiope (some called her a garden spider). She was useful, she dined on insects that humans did not admire.
The sun was setting, she had caught five meals, and was ready to settle down for the night.
“Goodnight, Lillith” I whispered. ” I will check on you tomorrow.”
She looked down at her beautiful green eyes, the look of thick black eyeliner around them and smiled.
“Oh, my beautiful!” she sighed, Parting is such sweet sorrow!” M’Lady’s whirls of black seemed to shimmer in the light. That picture would remain with her each day.
The tabby rubbed her legs, and purred. Sonja picked her up and scratched her under her chin as M’Lady looked up at her as if she were in heaven.
she could take her with her to the Bahamas.
“I wonder if she has any idea that I am going on vacation for a month?” Sonya though.
She glanced at her suitcases, wishing she could take her along.
She sat in the chair, staring at the wizened old lawyer.
“Zats vat it says” he uttered in his very European accent, for the third time. “I leave my great neice Victoria, who bears my name, my hotel in Winterthur, Svitzerlund.”
“I didn’t even know I had an Aunt Victoria!” Vicki exclaimed. “And where the heck is Winterthur, and what hotel?”
He handed her the photo, his hand shaking. It was the hotel she had seen on Modern Murder Mysteries on her favorite TV show last week.
He stood at the end of the trailer’s living room, yelling, cussing, throwing things, like he always did when he was angry.
She, of course, was in the hall by the washer, crying, her face speckled. red streaks, tears dripping onto her shirt.
“I’m so sick of your bitchin, woman!” he shouted from the doorway, ready to run out, after he had yelled his final insult, stomped and delivered his final accusation.
“Just step over the line and see what happens.” he yelled as he went for the door. As the line was crossed, he stared in silence.
It happens every March here in the mountains. Right after a cold spell, the sun will come out. It will warm the earth, causing flowers to bud and bloom. Those of us who love to garden will rush to the hardware store. We buy top soil and seeds. We dig up dead grasses, sprouting weeds.
Spring is here at last! A few glorious days of warmth. Fragile lilacs burst forth. We want so badly to forget what the unseasonal weather meant. It is not spring, not really, not yet. Grandpa called it Dogwood winter. I just sigh and call it disappointment.
Eight year old Tommy stuck his hand beneath the surface of the muck in the shallow pond. He ran the cool, squishy mud between his chubby fingers, delighted with its consistency, smoothness, even the lovely (for an eight year old) color of dirt.
Suddenly, he felt something hard amidst his hand full of mud. He clenched his fist tightly and brought the mud to the surface. Running his hand through the mud, sifting out the dirt, his eyes opened wide.
“This looks like the molar my brother Joe lost last week.” He thought.
According to an old paper tucked in Uncle dale’s dresser, it wasn’t Joe’s. Or where the rest of the body was.
I am afraid of heights. The new look out over the Grand Canyon is amazing in it architecture and views.
The programs I have seen with panoramic sweeps of the canyon are amazing, yet It seems to take away from the natural beauty of this unforgettable place when such a modern facility looms over the edge.
It has been 22 years since I saw the Grand Canyon. We were able to drive from look out to look out on our own time, take in the views and study the layers of rock and growth of plants at our own pace.
I think I prefer the Grand Canyon as it was. It could not be made more “Grand” by the hands of man.
I threw the last of the packages down on the bed. A few gift cards, last- minute ideas.
Oh, how I hate this season now. I always loved it-the glimmering lights, cooking, caroling, decorating, children’s smiles. Trees shimmering through the frost on the windows. My kids looking for new gifts under the tree every few days. My birthday only a few days away.
That was then and this is now. It is hard enough to see so many of the kids grown and gone, having their own celebrations, traditions. But taking my youngest to the cemetery to put flowers on his brothers grave…T’was the night before Christmas.
I kept hearing that sound-a mix of a far away scream and the howling of wind through some strange rock formation. “What was it?” I wondered as I sat huddled by the campfire with my brother and his friend.
We were both frightened and intrigued. Should we take off into the forest with only the moonlight and a small lantern to guide us, or ignore it, crawl into our warm sleeping bags in the tent and forget it?
And then we saw her, silhouetted against the rock at the top of the mountain. Her mystery and beauty held us all captive.
Walking towards the grocery store in the December wind, we heard the familiar bell of a Salvation Army Volunteer.
“What’s that sound?” asked my five-year old grandson.
“He’s called a volunteer.” My teenager replied. “He collects money for people who don’t have anything.”
My grandson looked up at me and asked, “Beebee, can we give them something?”
“Sure,” I said, reaching for some change.
He smiled as he listened to the coins jingling into the red kettle.
“God Bless you!” the older man said as we walked by.
“He already has.” replied my grandson.