Christmas Eve in the ForestStars peeking from behind the trees twinkle as if presenting a light show,
while an owl's faint hoot can be heard from afar.
The shining beacon that is the full moon causes the snow to glisten and sparkle a
as well as produce voluminous, elongated shadows of leafless trees,
revealing their skeletal branches.
The snow-covered pines are no longer pines tonight.
Tonight, their pinecones are their ornaments and their shimmering icicles are their
Tonight, they are Christmas trees. Christmas trees of the rabbits, the squirrels, the chipmunks;
Christmas trees of the raccoons, the coyotes, the foxes;
Christmas trees of the birds, the deer, the opossums.
Yes, tonight, they are Christmas trees because tonight is Christmas Eve.
When Bass is Gone (Read Description First Please!)Bass ran to the barn with all his might while the moonlight reflected off the damp earth beneath him, giving him just enough light to find his way. He caught the Roman nose, tied him to the rail while he found the saddle in the dark, and was struggling to find the saddle blanket when Mammy came over holding a lantern, with a sleeping bag in a roll and the little shooter and the mister's own saddle bags. "There's a knife in the roll, and a shirt," she said cautiously, careful that someone might hear, though no one was near.
Flowers appeared in the light of the lantern and handed Bass a beautiful braided horsehair lariat. He touched his hand to Bass's shoulder and said, "You be careful of people you see, and stay off of ridgelines, and don't get the morning light in back of you, and if they set dogs on you, you got to stop and shoot them." Then he turned and walked away.
"He talked," Bass said to Mammy, clearly stunnned.
"I Guess he finally had something to say. Now, ride. Follow the Dri
RunningI had to get away
I had to get away from it
My feet couldn't stop running, although they don't know where they're going
It's pitch black, I can't see even a burning piece of hell
I could feel the presence of something or someone
I could feel its evil radiating from it like the light of a lighthouse
I can't let it get me
Or I will be forever branded a citizen of this lightless world
Eternally bound to it, imprisoned
Sunlight will no longer greet me
No freedom, no psychical dexterity
I never knew my fear
I never had a fear
I know my fear now
The fear of the unknown
I could feel its warm breath on the nape of my neck
Suddenly, something struck me like a lightning bolt
My feet carried me faster, quicker, swifter
Until I was going so fast that the air itself stung my face like a wasp
Then I woke up in a cold sweat
My dream ceased to exist
What if I Can Help?I had a dream once
A dream that I helped all the helpless
Saved all the unsavable
And defended the defenseless
Whether it was a bum on the street
Or a little African boy struggling to
Survive a horrendous, bloodthirsty disease
The world was a better place to live
But that was just a glimpse of what could be.
My dream then showed me the reality
That same little African boy
Tears of sadness and hopelessness welling up in his eyes
He tried to choke them back while thoughts of a
Far worse, tormented lifestyle plagued his thoughts
Like a serpent creeping his way through the innermost bowels of his mind
Then the words "What if I can help?" suddenly appeared to my consciousness
I pondered these words
Thinking of the power they could contain
Of the lives they could save
The difference they could make
So I attempted to help the poor boy
But he seemed to grow farther in distance
As I walked nearer
I walked faster and faster until I was running
But I still wasn't anywhere near the boy
Then, I was
ArtistryPicture in mind, pencil in hand
Vivid colors forgotten for now
And inspiration he cannot withstand
He will empty his emotions into the paper
The lines connect with elegant curves and artful contours
This fortunate receiver of talent exercises
His creative process, hoping it will
Someday evolve into his career lifelong
A beautiful piece of art, worked and reworked to the limit
The neoteric pushed it to perfection, to get the
Correct image out of his head and onto paper, so he can
Make way for more unique pieces of equal beauty
If only I can draw that way, to have the talent that
Never ceases to amaze the common populace
It's all my mind allows me to wish, to desire, to
Want so desperately, like a flower in a drought
Whether it's a boy playing his violin, or a girl
With popped bubblegum resting on her face,
I cannot express these characters through this medium
I can marvel at an artist's work but cannot experience the
Elaborate processive joy of artwork's journey onto canvas
SpringThe Temperature is just right.
Right enough that the birds are singing.
Right enough that the trees expose their beautiful green scenery.
Right enough that the dogs begin to play.
They prance like leaping gazelles and dance like birds in love.
The Sassafras tree awaits somebody to discover its sensational emanation.
If you listen closely you just might be able to hear the shy
mysterious sound of the wind whistling through the pines.
The campfire glows a dazzling shade of orange while you
roast puffy marshmallows for s'mores and reminisce
your memories with friends and family.
Then darkness falls.
You get an earful of a unique harmonic blend that is the music of the night.