Tundra Flower

Pasque Flower blooming in Healy Alaska

Where once I made use of everything and every one, manipulated my way through thought process and circumstance to achieve my own personal agenda, and cared not what effect my actions might have on that with which I surround myself, presently I find myself unchoreographed, stripped of all pretense.

I have not knowingly employed one power of deception, plotted a single course, nor sought out any weakness that may be used to my advantage, since I arrived.

I fear not, that I have gone from being the predator to the prey.

Instead, I am surrounded by a great feeling of contentment. As if the weight of constantly contriving my existence has been lifted from me. For the first time, I am experiencing life, without an encumbering need for the strategies I always thought were quintessential to creating my own little corner of the world.

I bloom now, because it is my time- not because I have made it so.

devoid of motive
stillness springs forth, disguised as
a tundra flower.



Fortunate via Google Images

The shimmery blue satin fabric of Elipsa’s wedding gown slipped through her finger tips effortlessly, like soft spun glass it wound around her lithe frame, accentuating the womanly bits that she had tried so hard to hide as they had presented themselves.

Not accustomed to being dressed in such finery, she did her best to imagine what she must look like wearing it, momentarily longing for a looking glass- but quickly reprimanding herself for allowing such prideful desires to creep in.

After all, the garment was just the wrapping- it was she that was to be the gift.

If the man her father had promised her to in marriage was pleased when she was not wrapped in this heavenly blue finery, there would be peace between the two conflicting tribes- if not, there would be bloodshed.

Suddenly, the blue dress weighed down heavily about her neck and shoulders.

There had been enough bloodshed.

Written in response to Girlie on the Edge’s Blog call for a Six Sentence Story, prompt word: Frame.


oh, i love da roaring twenty’s,
and if i could have one wish,
i’d wanna be a flappa’,
and have the goys call me a ‘dish’..

i’d drink my fill a bathtub gin,
and romance all da toughest gangsta’s,
wear a cute little gat strapped to my gam,
and swing ta all da hot jazz masta’s..

i’d dance da charleston with da best a dem
all a shimmy-in, in my fringe,
get in every club wid a wink at da door,
and stay up days on end on a binge..

oh, dose were da glory days,
da rug was being cut,
da twenties to me was da bees knees,
with a slinky flappa’ strut….

The Tree

CCC #27

It was there that they planted her. Once upon a time, when they were young and very much in love.

It was there that they planted her. There, where the sun was full. There where the rains fell, trickling down, through her, into the surrounding fields.

It was there that they planted her, but it was she that brought forth from the womb of her earthen mystery, the tree.

The tree that once grew and blossomed, as she would have. The tree that served as a living reminder, that she had lived.

The tree that watched over them, much as they had envisioned themselves watching over her. The day they welcomed her into their world. Into their lives. Into their hearts.

Only to find, she had no intention of staying.

Once upon a time, when they were young and very much in love..

Posted for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #27