Wolfer Diggs - A Thanksgiving Short Story-creative writing. “We didn’t find nothin’, Hiram.” Joe Grissom had been sheriff since territorial days, because he kept the peace and always brought in his man, but now he stood shamefaced in front of Hiram and Nellie Folsom. Joe turned to a tearful Nellie. “There’s a good two foot of snow on, Ma’am and there ain’t a track to be seen.” That morning, Hiram Folsom had risen before dawn to tend to the milking, and four year old Millie Folsom had gone to the barn with her father, in the midst of a light snow. One of the barn cats was nursing a new litter in the hay, and Millie was enthralled with the kittens. But soon enough, the cold was nipping at her small toes, so her father walked her to the barn door and watched as she headed for the pre-dawn lantern lights showing in the kitchen window.
Satisfied, he returned to his milking. Two hours later, he trudged across the frozen barnyard in the early morning sun to the warmth of the house, shaking off the dusting of snow in the mud room. “Where’s Millie?” “No. The Boy, the Butterfly, and the Broken Wing. Divesting of the Self. Moving through emptiness Carried on by the whisper of water To a dry sea where I fossilize Leaving others to theorize My demise Somewhere Not far off Twelve thousand miles of waterfall Thunders At the edge of the World I steer straight for the rainbow Misting over the bright edge Crossing over I see the waters of the Earth Cascading into the depths Of eternity Beneath me The weight of my boat falls away Paddling is superfluous Yet I continue thus In a now translucent canoe Glittering droplets Bead up on my brow Leaving it full of holes Through which Light shines Like a crown of rays The roar fades behind As the canoe slowly fills My legs disappear My paddling has no meaning The canoe Invisible and light as air Carried forward apparently by its own momentum Into the ever brightening mist Gradually fades I dissipate into light As warm and wet as a womb Penetrated by gentle questions My self is gradually dissolved With a sigh I cease to be And return to being Explanation: Everyone must leave the physical existence.
And All the Time That You Are Alone’: A Tribute to an Ancient Tree: A Life Circle. Through the Window of My Car: A Poem in Four Seasons - Part II: Adagio, Scherzo, Rondo. PHOTOGRAPHY: A Living Palette. GULP I never tire of taking portraits of children. My son was exploring driftwood on a beach at Fort Morgan. His animated exploration was delightful subject matter! AUTISM My goddaughter has Asperger Autism. She has a gift with animals. THE ROAD This is what happens when you see something breathtaking and remember that your camera is with you in the car.
OCTOPUS Almost everyone I know has photoshop…except me! COFFEE TALK Everyday objects can be a great focal point. AUTUMN Walking up the driveway, I looked at the gorgeous leaves lying all around and I had to grab the camera. ALABAMA I cannot control my photographic impulses when industrial locations are involved. RADIO DAYS Textures can be fascinating when photographed. COMETS Like an impressionistic painting, this photograph was better a little out of focus. Oota This is Oo-Oo, or Oota, our family’s beloved daschund. SUMMER VACATION I have photo albums filled with normal photos, but once in a while I see one that begs to be dressed up. Music of the Street. Music goes through the street like a wind, bouncing off the bricks, the lamp posts, the pools of putrid water between road and sidewalk, the trembling street signs, and the people that cut across it all like skiffs across a strong wind. Music affects everything like wind. The things that move don't notice it as much.
It's the ones that are still that really feel it. They are the ones moved. They are the only ones who can be moved because they aren't busy doing it themselves. The city soars around us, birds cutting through the wind. Description of MORNING SONG I see her there every time. She doesn't like all of these people.
She looks down, looks away, adjusts her instrument, keeps busy with anything. And then she plays, and it's like watching someone rouse from a deep sleep. Description of THE MUSIC BENEATH It was like there was a whole other world beneath that straw hat of his. Only music. I never once saw him look up. Description of VIOLINIST PTS. 1 AND 2 description of GRANDPA ELLIOTT Icon. The beautiful birds of Puttaparthi - 1. Puttaparthi was a tiny hamlet in the state of Andhra Pradesh in India, when Bhagawan Sri Sathya Sai Baba made it shine brilliantly on the world map.
The village has experienced rapid growth and has developed into a township with an airport, a railway station, a bus stand, an international indoor sports stadium, a fully equipped cricket ground, a super specialties hospital, a general hospital, a University of higher learning, many museums and a fast growing population. The amazing thing is that this town also seems to be attracting a large variety of colourful feathered friends!
I have personally taken pictures of at least 90 different species of birds in the past one year. Here I present 20 photographs as an ode to the beauty and majesty of the birds in and around Puttaparthi. This is more of a small menu card which will present part of the great variety. There are four large lakes around the town and they support a variety of rich bird life. We arrive now to the little ones!