In honor of the Muse Conference and saving lives


I Wrote this today. It  will find its way into one of my novels; not exactly as it is, but related to what is stirred here.   It so reminds me of what I wrote long ago – “I write to save lives, perhaps mine.”


“Do you think it’s possible for you to fall in love with me, again?; like it was in the first three years of our relation ship?” She walks on the twisting trail, her voice faltering, terribly close to tears, again.

“I don’t really have the time.” He does not even look at her.

“What do you want me to do?” She looks into a pool of water, seeking a loving reflection, the angle is wrong.

“Whatever you think is best.” He continues to hold his camera tenderly, as if it was a bomb.

“You are the most disappointing man I have ever met.” Her voice is still shaky, but something else begins to stir in her.  Sad eyes look towards something she has not yet seen.

“Can you get out of the way, I want to take a picture of the mountain.” He states flatly.

She doesn’t move.

“Just move over to the left about three feet,” his abrasive voice demands.

“Right by the cliff?” She asks, shaking her head, almost disbelievingly.

“Wherever,”  again he does not look at her, just at the place he wants her to move away from.

“I hate you.” She speaks each word as  if  a sound is also a sigil, a shape that can be translated into life or death.

People on the trail sense that something is not right. A younger couple tries to find a different way to cross…

the disturbed and disturbing windy roads.  They look quickly away, from the couple and the dead tree.

The sad  woman is walking far too close to the edge of a sharp cliff.

The disappointing man is very focused on a empty burned down dead gnarled tree. He holds his camera, hiding in the shadows.

Slowly the woman turns away from the cliff and makes her way towards the tree, as if she is being called to it.  She is again inside the frame of the man’s camera. As if in slow motion she gracefully descends in between the sharply torn tree branches. Slowly she curls up inside herself and inside the dead tree.

Her tears cause a stirring in the GreenWoods.

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2 Responses to In honor of the Muse Conference and saving lives

  1. Sharon says:

    Quit fretting over that photography loser. He sounds like a self-involved jackass. Why waste yr time, girl? Besides, photography is the lowest of the arts. Look at something, take a picture of it! LOL…Writers and composers and visual artists, now they’re the true artists! Forget that fool.


    • drea777 says:

      Thank you for making me giggle.
      Having allies in the letting go journey, helps a great deal; as do mischievous chortles.

      Thank you!


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