Sitting inside, looking out at the bare trees and morning sun, I long for spring. It feels as unreal as a DREAM, the possibility of sitting on the patio, having my morning coffee. But I know that soon, we will get out the ROUND table, position the chairs. I close my eyes, willing the weak February sun to be warmer than it is. Can I move just so in the stiff-backed dining room chair, move so that the sun creates a RUDDY glow for my closed eyes? Sigh. I settle for hands warmed by my mug of coffee, belly full of toast and marmalade. Soon, I promise myself, soon.

Georg’ann

The can be no DOUBT, the GUARD has changed for the IU women’s basketball program. The wins are non-stop, the seats are sold out. It’s glorious except for a RUDER fan base. Why is it that higher levels of success breeds an edgier scene. I conjecture that it is an increase in testosterone and youthful energies. No longer for families, it’s a student party. Even the male cheerleaders are on the court, where they’ve never been before. Winning and recognition entices men to take notice. They bring their beer, their RUDDY faces, and booming voices yelling distasteful taunts.

Heather

We PAUSE at the end of the street. No guidebooks had mentioned that we would have to go along this somewhat SEAMY street just behind the Gare St. Lazare. I mean, we were staying just above a XXX movie theater and “Miss Corsica” did live in our building. But still, this street was a little more edgy (at least for this part of Paris). We shrugged, walked a little faster, lest the group of men staring at a window would turn and stare at us. I told myself to relax, they were unlikely to STEAL my purse or anything. Besides, when have I ever let a little anxious SWEAT and uneasiness stand between me and a highly recommended cheese shop??

Georg’ann

Each time my daughter enters the HOUSE, she never fails to say something to the effect of “I love this house, its perfect”. In this appreciation my own devotion to it is reaffirmed. A small old house we moved into on her 16th birthday, it’s not even her true childhood home, the pace where we lived with her father.
Another mother and daughter lived here before us. I think houses have and hold energies. Our previous house, though it was a beautiful house, never felt like a home. It had a bad vibe despite our loving presence. We felt it was haunted and later learned someone had committed suicide in the garage. We still SPEAK of the garden sheers that flew across that space one afternoon.
But I digress from the more pressing matters of this day and the needs of the house. The bathroom ceiling is beginning to peel as a result of the constant STEAM. It will require a certain amount of honest SWEAT to repair. These are the sorts of mindless tasks that actually become mindful. Memories come, I become pensive in my wonderings about love, family, work, metaphor. The mundane maintenance becomes spiritual reflection.

Heather

“What the—” I reluctantly open one eye. “ugh, who is making that racket?” I roll out of bed, struggling to focus on the source of my abrupt awakening. A glance at the light and then the clock- good grief, it’s not quite 6 am. Through the window, an almost perfect FRAME for the scene, I spy two children. Deeply serious, as they POUND the telephone pole, nails spill from little fists, a hammer boldly if imperfectly wielded. “Hey, you, what are you doing?? Don’t you know what time it is?” Two pairs of eyes turn to meet mine. Two faces, STOIC beyond their years. Brothers, I am guessing. “We lost our kitty,” the somewhat taller one says, “we’re putting up a notice.” “Yeah!” The shorter, doubtless younger brother, chimes in. “it’s says we will give a re-ward if you find her.” They must be 7 and 5, I am guessing. “Very wise to put the notice on the community KIOSK, but did you have to do it
now? At this wretched hour? Alone? Where are your parents?” My words are not meant to sound harsh, but they must have done, because now two pairs of eyes are welling with tears, previously steady lips are now trembling. “Oh bloody hell,” I mutter. “Okay, let me get dressed and I’ll be right there, you can then tell me the whole story.”

Georg’ann

I often found my mother sitting
in the dark, so QUIET
her brown eyes ringed with circles, high cheeks
hollowed below the bone
she called the easy CHAIR “Mother”
vintage plush brown with faded buff flowers
two weary and worn women
one cradling the other as she twirled
black hair around her PINKY for hours on end
there’s a photo somewhere of me on her lap
fair and frightened, arms wrapped tightly
around my Raggedy Ann doll
companion purchased from a flea market KIOSK
tender girls sensing danger
ensnared by these haunted mothers

Heather

I succumb to your CHARM. I EXALT your beauty and grace. Behind the LOADS of laundry, the PLANK of the ironing board, I see a formidable and proud spirit. I QUAIL before you, oh Goddess of the home. You may pretend to be nothing, but to no AVAIL: without you, civilizations would crumble.

Georg’ann

OCEAN, a word too vast
for the morning write
Is that right?
It shall be revealed in the rite
The cat has come to GUARD the temple
A SHAFT of light across the table
Guiding me inward,
this is the call and response
of inner and outer landscapes
Noting the PLAYA within
double entendre
Dried basin dreaming
being lush with flirty prowess
as vast as the OCEAN
yet to no AVAIL

Heather

As she spoke, she straightened the collar on her burgundy wool coat. “I will not rest, Randolph – really will have no PEACE – until I CHASE down where Daddy put them.” Carefully, she smoothed the silk scarf, never once breaking eye contact with her luscious self in the mirror. “The lawyers can’t tell me – yet. But” (and here she turns round and finally faces her fiancé) “you will help me search the house. Top to bottom.” One step towards him, precisely calculated to narrow the space between them, just so. “We will uncover the CACHE of Mummy’s jewels, won’t we?” Randolph could feel every bit of his integrity and dignity – and God knows, there wasn’t a lot to begin with – melt away. He never could resist her careful, precisely calculated manipulations. All he could manage in the moment was a weak, strangled noise that Clarissa took for a “yes, darling, whatever you say, dear.”

Georg’ann

Janae wanted to RAISE her hand, she believed she’d written a decent FABLE yet she hesitated. Reading out loud always made her nervous. She had an excellent written vocabulary but was not confident in her pronunciation. She lived her life in books because there was no one with whom she could converse. She knew words by sight, not by sound and was confused by the inconsistencies of spoken language.
Yesterday she’d gotten a new book from the library. The cover was a velvety MATTE stock that felt so good in her hands. The tactile aspect of a book was as much a part of her pleasure as the content of the pages and the places they took her. The inspiration for her assignment had come from this new story.

Hers starts with a young coyote wrapping a few precious gems in GAUZE, forming a tidy bundle which she tucked into the NAPPE in the bluff along the river. Her CACHE would be safe until she returned.
Janae had delighted in her writing, she longed to share it with her classmates and knew she couldn’t. Maybe her teacher would read it out loud after grading it, and then she’d hear the lyrical cadence of her vocabulary, bringing new dimensions to her storytelling.

Heather

The ocean waves TEMPT me, with their MILKY white foam, their mottled blues and greens. My head pounds, my bones ache, my soul is weary. I have been pulled in too many directions, overwhelmed by urgency and disasters everywhere. Truly these are the siren songs of the 21st century driving me to MANIC, frantic activity. I look out, as if at a point in infinity. Let me take just one step — no, two, ten, twenty, a thousand — along the beach. Let the MAGIC, the healing properties of salt, sand, water release me. I yield to the paradox: the grounding provided by waves in perpetual motion and the soft shifting sands.

Georg’ann

We were sitting by the fire in a Mexican restaurant when my dad began to regale us with stories. He’s beyond BROKE, took the last of his STASH to buy a clean shirt at the thrift store for this dinner out with his daughters. We’re supposed to be discussing the housing situation, it’s an 18 month waitlist just to get on a waitlist. He’d expressed fear at how the streets had changed in the last 10 years and he didn’t think he was up to living back in the bushes at Pony Park. At 76 he was vulnerable, afraid. He let it show for a few brief minutes. Then ordered another Tecate and began to tell a childhood tale that involved a snake, a fire, and an ANVIL. It was hard to follow.

I think the snake slithered out from behind the FACIA in the basement where the furnace needed stoking. Very long story short, my dad got burned and the snake didn’t survive.

This was the Maritano storytelling MAGIC in action. I recorded it surreptitiously on my iPhone, another sliver of family lore captured around a dinner table.

Heather

Ah, such a TEASE! Pretending to be my PALSY-walsy when we SALSA!

Georg’ann

When the taxi stopped in front of the address, I was soothed to see that I would be living above a bakery. Nothing so comforting as the smell of warm BREAD wafting. A far cry from the old lady’s hair salon that used to be below my college apartment. The acrid stench of permanent solution was ever present, as were her watchful eyes. It was not the best time for a business trip abroad, but perhaps these weeks away might not be so bad after all, I could fill my yearly QUOTA of carbohydrates and butter in a single week, and I’d heard there might be a PLAZA nearby where they gave nightly SALSA lessons. Bread and dancing – two of my favorite things. Now if only a neighborhood cat would stroll by, maybe following a handsome gentleman who loved to dance…

Heather

I WOULD, if I could.
But the words won’t be FOUND,
no matter how my head spins ROUND.
Am I up or am I down? Will my ideas run aground?
Can I make your heart POUND
With my rhyme and SOUND?

Georg’ann

HEART feels unbound love
Her DOWNY cheek at my breast
Sleeping SOUND so sweet

Heather

Getting on the PLANE felt BRAVE. And Diana, despite her bold, huntress-goddess name was much more used to being the one to SKATE along the edge of danger, not boldly confront it. The decision to CHASE something she desired was driven by an unaccustomed urgency. She could feel a tug of war inside. Her well-worn patterns of shame and doubt wrestling with nascent abilities to assert, be confident, and strong. On this trip, her figuring out the USAGE of this new self could yield not just a happier state but also allow her to come into the family inheritance she deserved.

Georg’ann

This word TRAIN literally and figuratively taking me so many places.
This word appears and my mind becomes a station,
one of the big ones in Paris, tracks going everywhere all at once.
Which one will I jump on now?
Which one takes me to the sea
I’ve a yearning for salt air, a chance WHALE sighting just there off the cliff.

That cliff, oh no, invasive thoughts, too much
back up wrong train, try again.
Try the early morning train, the one that
leaves the west coast in the dark.
Days of playing cards in the dining car heading to Indiana.
SPADE played takes the winning hand.
Arrive in the dark picked up by strangers that are grandfather, cousin, aunt.

A different track takes me out to the highest trestle. Not much USAGE anymore,
chance sightings thrill.

For hundreds of lines I could continue to lay down train track memories.

Heather

Crossing the Piazza San Marco, I am focused on the BREAD I must buy. I dodge other shoppers along the twisting pathways, orienting myself by what CANAL is to my left, now my right. The acqua alta has not yet turned the city into a series of MOATS and lakes, THANK goodness. It will be a GIANT pain to do the simplest task then. As a new resident of the city, the anticipation of this annual event makes me question the wisdom of moving here, even as I rejoice daily in the beauty around me.

Georg’ann

It was not intended to FORGE a bond
When I met her desperation with tenderness
Gestures so simple
as picking up the phone
become as soothing as a mother’s hand gently stroking a child’s brow

In this way I leaned into loving a woman I didn’t like
she kept reaching for a woman she’d not kept in SIGHT

It’s not GIANT things from which we come into being
only tiny particles coming together

Heather

Giggles. We dissolved into giggles. There really was no other word for it. The more they asked for QUIET, the more we succumbed to that impulse, that bubbling up silliness.

The ridiculous PLUME adorning Aunt Bet’s hat was partly responsible. The knowledge that out of all of Aunt Bet’s BEAUX, she had chosen the mustachioed, pompous Colonel was also why. And that they had chosen this spot for the wedding, which they really should
REDUB “My Old Kentucky Home,” or perhaps “Tara” was another. And finally, that Mother had made us get out the fox furs (absolutely ancient)!!! And that we had to DEBUG them!!! Oh, Lordy!

And that last, Gentle Reader, is a secret that is to die with us all. But how were we to be silent in the face of all of this absurdity?? Especially with little fox faces looped around our necks?? Fox faces, mustaches, pomposity, plumes of feathers?? Giggles were really the kindest, and perhaps only sane responses.

Georg’ann

When the ROYAL brigade arrived we were not sure what to think, ours was a tiny, unassuming village. They tried to be inconspicuous, as if we’d not take notice. They’d ensured there was no SHINE on their shoes, they tried to mill about without falling into a QUEUE. Each wore quite a GETUP that they assumed made them blend, but only served to highlight that they didn’t belong. This was a top secret mission to DEBUG our communication systems. The enemy was watching, our town had become central to the conflict simply because it had no involvement whatsoever.

Heather

Is this a DREAM? Can this be real? A small house made of ADOBE, right at the edge of a WEALD. How is this even possible? I am further confused by the HEADY scent of lilies of the valley and lilacs. I suppose there is nothing to do but go up and knock on the door and discover who has built a mud house at the edge of a forest.

Georg’ann

Everyone had a GREAT time, even though you’re all likely to be suffering a wee bit this morning. I can’t BLAME you for your excessive consumption of PEACH flavored brandy. It was a crowd favorite. Thankfully for me that cocktail was too HEAVY. A HEADY concoction I couldn’t stomach.

Heather

My FLAME once burned bright. Accolades were many, and for a long time, regrets were few. Yet, now, knowing what I know about how quickly time moves and how much we can lose, I would TRADE those moments in the light for more time with you. I know you did not begrudge me my time upon the public STAGE, a time when you were forced to share me with the community. But still, I will be plagued forever with doubts and questions of what could have been.

Georg’ann

Inside all is still, peaceful and warm
Outside rain and wind beat at the windows
I don’t want to get out of my cover nest QUITE yet
Though the cat has already left, signaling just how late it is
She’ll be waiting by her bowl,
Yesterday I should have gone to the STORE
the last bit of the bread is STALE and barely milk for my coffee.
we have plenty we don’t live close to the margin
Our supplies are short
only because I choose so.
Just as today its a choice
to be late, nothing is at STAKE
a few blocks away, the house where I lived once as a child
a house where there was no warmth or food.
And yet still more than the man who is right now sleeping on the STAGE of the park between that house and this home.
The rain on his roof plays a different song

Heather

“I have the RIGHT to be here,” she muttered angrily, taking a SWIPE with the cleaning rag. “No matter what that old hag says.” The shelf shook slightly and the ancient Persian bowl (mother of pearl INLAY, of course) rocked in response. “Oh no you don’t!” A quick but careful stabilizing of the bowl. She glanced over at the desk, where Lord Hardwick was sorting through estate papers. Sigh of relief. He seemed oblivious to the under parlour maid. Her hand shook slightly as she continued to dust. She could not risk allowing a CLAIM of carelessness against her. She did not want to be sent back to the farm where she would have to FLAIL in the fields, sunup to sundown, 7 days a week, threshing grain.

Georg’ann

Getting ready to shower, Siobhan began to RAISE her arms, lifting her PLAID shirt overhead, rather than unbuttoning it, she was distracted by a BLAIN under her left armpit. Lately she’d been noting the hard pea sized lump, wondering if it would erupt or subside. She pinched, pushed, poked, and squeezed it. The result was irritation and redness without any change in the bump. After a bit she gave up her prodding and entered the cascade of warm water.
Her mother used to CLAIM that a hot shower was one of life’s greatest pleasures. As she stood enjoying the sensation of her hands rubbing herbal scented foaming gel along the long stretches of her limbs and into the nooks and crannies, out of the corner of her eye she saw a GLAIK and wondered if there’d be a good storm. She liked the thought of pouring a bit from the FLASK and sitting by the wood stove, glancing up at her great grandfather’s FLAIL. Coming to the family cabin for a solo retreat had been a wise decision.

Heather

It’s the QUIET part of the day. I sit, idle at last. Enjoying dessert, a thin sliver of pie, I trace patterns in the CREAM, a wobbly white canvas sitting atop the crust. I allow my mind to drift. Indeed, I am so tired of intentional, purposeful thinking, I have done enough of that today. Pushing aside the pie for the moment, I Take out my notebook and begin to doodle: a flower, a seashell, a WHALE, an illustration of a FABLE not yet written. Pleased and restored, I take a last bite of APPLE pie and head up to bed, ready at last for sleep.

Georg’ann

Almost threw in the TOWEL,
the day was not so CLEAR,
time and thoughts particularly LEAKY.
Felt a bit scattered, noting as I rushed out the door that my preference for SABLE colored clothes means no matter how AGILE I move, being constantly covered in orange cat fur threatens to ADDLE my sense of polish and poise.

(I didn’t get it – no APPLE in my eye)
Heather

To CLEAR oneself of a psychic WOUND, a spell for experienced witches. At NIGHT on the NINTH day after the injury to your soul, at the ninth hour, take nine springs of rosemary, wrapped in holy basil leaves, with one tiny bit of frankincense. Dig a small hole with nine strokes, place the herb bundle in the hole, and cover it saying “heart heal /heart whole /heart seal / mend soul.” Best done under a linden or hawthorne tree

Georg’ann

Preparing for an evening at Dodger’s Stadium, we swing by Trader Joe’s and pick up a POUND of chocolate covered almonds, which we will attempt to SNEAK past the gate guards. It is our hope that the slow moving, cane carrying, multiple jacket wearing gentleman among us will be shooed along without much notice. At the checkout I grab a tin of breath fresheners for a MINTY pick me up, and off we go. The traffic is a disaster, the venue immense. By the time we get settled in our seats it’s already the bottom of the NINTH.

Heather

Weirdly, I find it a TREAT to ARGUE with you, my love. Those moments of tension have been a vital contribution to the SHAPE of our love. We have forged this thick, durable CABLE, sometimes heavy as iron, at others light and slippery as silk, yet always strong and tying us together. Happy Valentine’s Day. I am so glad to be in this DANCE with you.

Georg’ann

When you REACH beyond
limiting notions of self
seek a PLACE to DANCE

Heather

Moving ABOUT in the QUIET, trying not to wake anyone, I open drawers and cabinets. I woke up with much to ponder, and realized that I am restless, hungry, awake. Uncertain if my hunger is physical or emotional, I settle on some FRUIT. Going through the motions, I rinse berries in the UNLIT kitchen. Poking around in the fridge, seeing if anything else sounds good, I can feel myself already relaxing, my mind letting go of fretful tensions.

Georg’ann

When buying a FRESH bouquet at the market
I often think of myself as Mrs. Dalloway
being sent out by Virginia Woolf
to get flowers for the party
Walking in the back door
Packages in hand, a QUICK glance
toward the bodacious apricot LUPIN
Not long UNTIL she’ll fade
my garden is not well tended
the perennials are as ephemeral
as if the’d already been cut
death in process, even as they give me such delight
With ease the match brings light to the UNLIT taper

Heather

He sang ALOUD to the EMPTY room, “What kinda CHICK would SHIRK her duty? / Flee her town and …” He shook his head. It just doesn’t work. Sighing, he sat at a desk, pulling his backpack over. The classroom would fill soon, as the buses started arriving. He was frantic to get this song done before fifth period. He was desperate, nervous, all the things that go with trying out to be in a band. Pulling out his notebook and his cassette player, he got ready to try one more time to write the song, the one that would get him in.

Georg’ann

I like to look at public bulletin boards
crowded with PRINT media
Behind each FLIER is a story
Something lost among invitation to something new
Stories filled with promise, hope, opportunities
Buttons, the lost grey tabby has been tacked over the one for the Moon Women ritual group.
Surely by now the apartment has been sublet, it’s covered in pin pricks from all the things placed after, the edges tattered
The Ryder film showings are from last month, the new one hasn’t been posted
did someone SHIRK responsibility?
I begin to weave a narrative
from the details on, or left off, this familiar wall

Heather

My mind is on the HERON, and how very LUCKY I am to be sitting in this particular spot. Not many of the tables in the crowded café afford such a clear view of the water’s edge. The waiter comes by with my potato and pea
PATTY, but I ignore the TASTY lunch almost until it has cooled off to be unpleasant, so absorbed am I in the graceful movements of the bird.

Georg’ann

PAUSE, breathe in deeply
walk along the SANDY shore
eat TASTY ice cream

Heather

CLEAR the bed,
Weeds pile up
Jays SCOLD,
Robins wait
Worms wiggle
Birds pounce
Patience is its own reward

Georg’ann

In her HASTE to get out the door, Bugsy forgot to put the milk back in the refrigerator. As she sat in the shade at recess, practically melting in the heat, a vision of it sitting on the counter caused her little heart to skip a beat. She knew it would SPOIL by the time she got home. What would she tell her mother? Perhaps she didn’t have to tell her mother? Could she just put it back and wait for cold, spoiled milk to be discovered later? Bugsy’s pondered her fate for the rest of the afternoon. She was so distracted she missed a few easy math problems and didn’t hear when the teacher called for the spelling tests to be turned in. It was a multiple SCOLD kind of day, one mistake leading to another, like a cascade of dominoes.

Heather

I MEANT to play a pleasant CHORD, one that fell gently on the ear. Instead, as I strummed, the CROWS took flight, black squawk boxes, throwing me completely off my game. I shake my fist, glaring up at them, CROSS as can be. I settle back down, and reflect, it could have been worse. At least they didn’t poop on my guitar.

Georg’ann

What a terrible WASTE
Mistake made in sleepy haste
Silence the jubilant CHOIR
Put the CROCK on the fire
No ability to CROON
Feed me honey on a spoon
Perhaps it’s CROUP
Shall I have soup?
A nurturing kind of gruel?
An awful low sort of crool
Is the sound of a voice lost
The word not chosen was CROSS

Heather

Sipping my coffee, phone in hand, I feel grounded in the shared morning writing practice. Like a lightly held hand, our friendship reaches across the ether. It’s a sweet connection, born from a shared love of games, words, and creativity. Sometimes I strive for playful images, but there are occasions where the words push me elsewhere. Like today: the FRAIL TRAMP slumps defeated against the wall, unable to stand. He and his fellows CRAVE more than the passersby can give.

Georg’ann

Word play to start the day
To WRITE PROSE is morning glory with a friend
No striving for a GRADE
We put the BRAKE on perfection
Wordle is the FRAME
within which our imaginations
are unbound
following patterns
a CRANE might CRAVE a crate filled with fish cakes to share with his neighbor, a jovial crake named Jasper.

Heather

“What do you suppose was the CAUSE of the SHORT in the electrical system?” “I don’t know, Mr. Smith, but let’s rule out something like squirrels before we assume something FISHY happened.

Georg’ann

Rubin ducked behind the dumpster, a PAUSE before he and the rest of the squad took the building by STORM. After weeks of surveillance the we’re ready. They knew enough about the FISHY comings and goings to take action.

Heather

Her HEART on the verge of healing, she yields to a gentle moment in the park. Shy, a little head toss, hair swinging, slow smile spreads. Hand softly reaches. A little tentative moment to FLIRT, rewarded by an enthusiastic tail wag from a puppy. Sweetness

Georg’ann

Taking a quick BREAK from the morning chores to watch this sweet girl
with her bed head mane of golden curls, puffy pink coat, and RUNNY nose
playing in the snow just past the PORCH.
She pauses and begins a chat, looking up at a bird.
When she comes in I ask her about her conversation.
“I was talking to my grandma, you know, that one that died? She’s an angel in that bird. She flew away, though”

I remember another golden haired girl, 20 some years ago, chatting in the back alley with her deceased grandmother.
Me at the sink, then, as now.
The visions merge then SWIRL
down the drain with the dishwater.
Her eyebrow raised and a sly smile
turns the moment instantly from the realm of nostalgic reverie
and pondering of grandma ghosts
to engaging this playful FLIRT.

Heather

Out in the FIELD
Round ABOUT the PORCH
Under the snow
The worms burrow deep

Their WORMY ways
WORRY me not
I bless their slumber
Their winter naps

My partners in the garden

Georg’ann

Walking this well worn path,
I know it with my eyes closed
curves, ruts, roots, moss covered rocks, the bend that overlooks the ridge then turns back toward a meadow
Familiar as she is, there is something new in each step
This morning as I exited the woods,
moving toward the marshy inlet
I saw an egret land
White GRACE in motion
A cloud descending into the rising mist
Delicate long legs that conjure memory of a STORK I made in art glass years ago.
My walk continues along the BOURN
content, out here I let go all WORRY

Heather

We are so ALIKE, two tweens being of very good CHEER, having a giggle over the slightly SEEDY movie magazines found on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Alone in the house, after school, left to amuse ourselves, we are omnivores of all reading material: WEEPY dime store detective novels, the aforementioned movie magazines, and weird Christian romances. We stare, fascinated, at the BEEFY men and wasp-waisted blondes that seem to be the common denominator across all these dubious genres.

Georg’ann

Our bench has good DEPTH
new players LEARN quickly how to SEIZE the ball.
Some scoring from the outside
with long arcs that flow into the net.
Or come together for Complicated choreography with tricky passes and surprise buckets.
GEEKY statisticians track each motion
while fans scream and clap, or silently focus, willing the ball to move with rapt attention
body taut, moving in concert with the players.
Some bite into BEEFY hotdogs and grab handfuls of salty popcorn.

17 years a season ticket holder of IU Women’s basketball,
watching the program develop.
It started as a casual activity for a newly divorced mother and her 9 year old daughter.
Evolving into tradition for an ever expanding circle of family and friends.

Heather

Looking across the WHEAT fields, she felt a sense of PEACE. There is something about those gently waving stalks that always brought her back to a calm center. Images emerge of Demeter and abundance, calm mother holding space for her daughter, Persephone. Yes, calm in the face of the cycle of loosing and retrieving. So very different, she mused, from the spike in energy, a call to AGILE leaps and spins that she felt when visiting her uncle’s fields. Those were mostly MAIZE, tall stiff plants that held tight to their multicolored ears. The rustle and dryness of the stalks evoked the ancient, youthful Mayan god, a connection to life energy that seemed so different from that of the ancient Greek goddess.

Georg’ann

We walked toward the lookout platform of Ik Kil, the Sacred Blue Cenote, unprepared for the astounding beauty of this ROUND pool, it was just meant to be a STAMP on our Yucatán adventure. Even with all the other tourists, I felt it’s MAGIC. Slowly we descended the steps for our swim in the clear blue, and oh so deep. Taking one last look up at the surrounding limestone bluff covered in vines, I plunged into the portal and became The MAIZE Goddess.

Heather

“To find the path, CHASE the CLOUD” Crinkled cellophane and crumbs from a fortune cookie littered the table. “C’mon, now you open yours.” I looked across at her beautiful face. How many times had we honored this tradition? Lunar New Year at the only Chinese restaurant in town, fortune cookies predicting our upcoming year. “You will win in COURT.” I drop the paper as if it were on fire. She grabs it, and looks at me triumphant. “See?? I told you to COUNT on a win next week!” I just stare at her. She has no idea what is really going to happen when my case is heard.

Georg’ann

SPEAK silently, sshh
WORTH is not volume of words
Why try to COUNT the stars

Heather

I YIELD once more to the gardener’s urge. Dreaming daily of new seeds, new plants, my desk is littered with sketches and graph paper. I DELVE into books and websites, ever hopeful. Parallel to the hope is the sad thought that this year I will fail again, that I will be thwarted, success will ELUDE me. Is it a testament to the human spirit, this dogged determination? Or just foolish human delusions?

Georg’ann

Waking to a WHITE dusted landscape
Simplicity of the SPARE branches adorned
as if dipped in white chocolate
for a sugarplum dream
Far from the realm of the laboratories
where we spend our days developing technology to CLONE
The desire to replicate structure,
serves to ELUDE genuine appreciation of the original
Essence is and isn’t in the structure
of these elegant branches outside my window

Heather

The heavy, delicious PEACE of a DREAM- my body is weighted down, my body sinks into the bed. Slow breath. My world is very far away… where I have to constantly perform, perfecting and upholding my role as a policy MAVEN, leader of many, MATEY to few. Please don’t let the alarm go off yet… Surely the Prime Minister can wait a little longer?

Georg’ann

Sitting in my CHAIR watching STEAM shadows dance on the wall behind the kettle, noting dents in the METAL, while I wait for the whistle. Outside MATED cardinals perch on the swaying branches of the unwieldy viburnum. One flies toward the feeder, displacing a black capped chickadee in mid peck. One can almost hear him utter, “hey, what gives MATEY?” as he lands on a low branch close by to wait for the next opening.

Heather

I press my face to the window – I love watching the PLANE climb, the CLOUD landscape changing from mist to puffy pillows. Though, who am I kidding? Perhaps I am hiding a bit by turning my face to the window, as my first FLUSH of excitement, as I found my seat, led me to BLURT out a nervous yelp. I had stumbled and tumbled over strangers, falling into my seat, a tangle of coat, sweater, and bags. (One backpack, one “personal carry-on”). Perhaps I can continue to hide my embarrassment by reading for the 1000th time the BLURB about the island paradise that awaits me. The brochure about the resort? Maybe that will help them reevaluate who I am – not a clumsy country bumpkin, but a sleek sophisticate… Ah, a girl can dream, yes?

Georg’ann

Damnit, I’ve got a STAIN on my POUCH from carrying this nasty GRUEL up to the BLUFF. I’ve been assigned to write a BLURB about it for Hiker Fit magazine. The photographer will do her job of making the meal seem enticing through subliminal suggestion with the amazing view. And editing out the dark patch on my bag!

Heather

With a BLAST of anger that was covering deep layers of fear and grief, she did, indeed, ALTER their relationship. They would have some serious work ahead to get back to where they had been.

Georg’ann

Around the GRAIN bin we did MARCH, a preschool parade with all the trimmings of a morning well spent with glitter, ribbon, sticks, and other treasures from the craft bins. Hats askew, scepters and batons held with authority as their little bodies moved in wobbly formation. These are the kind of days I most ADORE, not a single thing would I ALTER.

Heather

In my DREAM, I am wearing a SMOCK the edges of which are MUCKY. The odd thing is that the whole dream is like a negative – so when I look down, what I expect to be dark is light and vice versa. Is that to be the theme of my day? A reversal of experience – goodness where I expect evil? Or at least clean surfaces where I am expecting mud?

Georg’ann

Dark expanse decorated with festive lights,
we walk through twinkles of every description
A GOURD lighted from within captures my fancy,
sitting at the base of a tree
small holes across her big round belly
make a warm mandala appear to be floating
a lone white tree silhouetted acres and acres away,
nothing but black night between
She is a QUIET queen reigning from afar
How is it possible for my fortunes to have become so LUCKY when my beginnings were so MUCKY?

Heather

Wearing ROUGE like the rogue he was, Paul sauntered along the WHARF. You could almost CHART the time of day by the waxing and waning of his CHARM. He shared other qualities with the moon; those he enchanted used words like “pearly,” “mysterious,” and one even nicknamed him “La Luna.” But he was perhaps most like the moon in his ability to reflect his companion’s own light, glowing softly where they burned brightly. This ability caused many an unsuspecting person to believe that he was whatever they themselves were, falling in love in the most narcissistic of ways. This would happen regularly in the time it took to finish a glass of his beloved CHARD and a plate of fine cheese. They would not see it coming, the trap would have been set by their own vanities and self-absorption.

Georg’ann

Late last spring, I was working in the garden one afternoon, gently pulling weeds out of the moist soil. Summer had not yet arrived. I was still in the season of pleasure in all gardening tasks. Quiet, sensual, earthy work full of potential. The delight of expectation, abundance to come.

Into this unguarded moment came a memory of my mother, so palpable it might actually have been her GHOST. I could see her her hands in the dirt, sun glinting on the gold CHAIN that never left her wrist. Adorned with a single CHARM given to mark my birth. I was my mother’s true love, the only one worthy of a gold trinket, worn as permanently as if it were a tattoo.
She wasn’t one for clutter, but held close the few things that truly mattered. Tears fell into the newly planted CHARD, as I looked at down at my naked wrist.

Heather

On the road, the LEAST little thing can pull us together or tear us APART. My heart is won by a pair of tacos with a mighty fine latte to go. Oh, Redheaded Stranger, will you please ADOPT me for your very own?

Georg’ann

The moon shone through the CLOUD cover,
a ring of light that DROVE an inner tide to shore
Gently delivering me
newly born
let this island ADOPT me.

Heather