StormSage Central - Creative Collective

Missing You Always and Forever by Stormsage

2010-09-08T07:15:00.002+10:00

Creator: Leanne Elliott

About: This is the little cherub that we have placed on my sister Karen’s grave; recently it was the 7 year Anniversary of Karen’s death. I took this photo because it is such a true visual representation of what loss looks like.

View this image here.

Purchase this image at Redbubble here.

Available As: Cards, Matted Prints

© StormSage, All Rights Reserved

Selected Amazon Links:
Cherished Cherub Statue Garden Angel Outdoor Yard Patio
Angels and Cherubs Stickers: 24 Full-Color Pressure-Sensitive Designs (Pocket-Size Sticker Collections)
I Wasn't Ready to Say Goodbye: Surviving, Coping and Healing After the Sudden Death of a Loved One

Autumn Is Here by Ann Åhsberg

2010-09-07T07:15:00.001+10:00

Title: Autumn Is Here

Author: Ann Åhsberg

About: Poems inspired by the autumn ...

This eBook is FREE to download.

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
Collected Poems (Autumn House Poetry)
A Flight to Elsewhere (Autumn House Poetry)
The Autumn House Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry

Rivers by WhispersWW

2010-09-06T15:06:00.000+10:00

rivers of metal
unable to flow
trapped
by sheer volume
in gorges of girded concrete

fingers drumming
frustrated heartbeats
on immobilised steering wheels
imprisoned
impotent
feeling the passage of
time that doesn’t wait

Copyright © WhispersWW

Selected Amazon Links:
Milton and the Natural World: Science and Poetry in Paradise Lost
Wild and Wonderful: Poems About the Natural World (Picture poetry)
Handmaid to Divinity: Natural Philosophy, Poetry, and Gender in Seventeenth-Century England (Series for Science and Culture)

The Waiting Game by Cerridwyn Tiponi

2010-09-06T14:47:00.000+10:00

She sits forlornly

Waiting; always waiting, but

No one ever comes.

Copyright © Cerridwyn Tiponi

Selected Amazon Links:
Haiku for Lovers
Emo-Ku (If Emotions were Haikus)
Small World: Haiku on the Way

Humming Bird Repose by Julie Magers Soulen

2010-08-27T07:15:00.001+10:00

Title: Humming Bird Repose

Photographer: Julie Magers Soulen

About this Image: The other day I was watering plants on our deck and spotted this little hummer girl sitting peacefully and enjoying the day. I was so taken aback by her unusual behavior. Most of our broad-tailed hummingbirds are blatantly feisty, constantly diving and chattering over front row seats at the three feeders that I refill a couple times a day. (We go through over ten pounds of sugar a week!)

I went inside to get my camera, thinking she would surely be gone when I returned. But she was still there, tilting her head and blinking at me. She sat there for several minutes completely unperturbed by my close proximity. Then a big gust of wind blew her right off her perch and she was gone, leaving me to ponder what I had just witnessed.

View larger image here.

Selected Amazon Links:
Animal Portraits
Animal Photography: A Practical Guide
Dynamic Wildlife Photography: Techniques for Creating Captivating Images

Watercolor Beauty by Ann Åhsberg

2010-08-26T21:40:00.000+10:00

I walk down the hill, and I see
beautiful blood maples

I can not resist ...

picks a pair of red and
black leaves on the ground

I walk outside a day care center

Where the children's laughter is
heard during the play,

their rest from requirements…

picks some more leaves in red,
yellow and orange

I feel rich ...

have a bouquet of leaves
in my hand

inspires me to
paint a watercolor,

something new to have
on my wall

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
Poetry as Insurgent Art

Art & Nature: An Illustrated Anthology of Nature PoetryThe Art of Poetry: How to Read a Poem

In Death I Shall Finally Breathe by StormSage

2010-08-19T07:15:00.007+10:00

I am drowning, sinking to the very bottom
of the deepest, darkest
crevice beneath the
smooth surface of
the turquoise crystal ocean.
My arms flailing,
I struggle
with every ounce of my being;
towards the surface
where the rays of sunlight
can be felt upon my cold skin.
But, I am too weak,
so I stop.
Closing my eyes
I accept that this is now my fate.
I exhale one last time,
now devoid of air,
no more blue sky,
an absent sun.
The dark ocean
swallows me whole.

The beating of my heart
grows faint
as the pressure builds,
sinking further down
the beating finally stops.
My spirit now rises.

For no matter how far
in life I may sink,
even if my heart no longer beats,
my spirit will ultimately rise again...
breaking the surface of the mirrored ocean.

A gleaming white moon
lighting the way.
So that finally I may rest,
without fear, despair or wanting.
In death I shall finally breathe.

Copyright © StormSage

Selected Amazon Links:
Hopeful Realism: Reclaiming the Poetry of Theology
Faith Inspired Seeds of Hope: A Collection of Prayers and Poetry
Faith, Courage, Wisdom Strength and Hope: Inspirational Poetry That Comes Straight from the Heart

(Free eBook) Soulmates by Ann Åhsberg

2010-08-17T13:21:00.001+10:00

Title: Soulmates

Author: Ann Åhsberg

About: Now four chapters of ten! A short story about a Swedish woman and a Lakota - indian in the mountains of the Northern Sweden ... Factual basis!

This eBook is FREE to download.

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
Super Sad True Love Story: A Novel
The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival
Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writers' Guide from the Nieman Foundation at Harvard University

Enter Each Day with Eagerness, as if It Were a Present by Muffyjo

2010-08-17T13:13:00.000+10:00

No One Knows How Many Days They Have on this Earth,

But Each Day Holds a Mystery Unique to Them

That Only They Can Unfold.

Enter Each Day with Eagerness, as if It Were a Present.

Copyright © Cheryl Gordon

Selected Amazon Links:
AffirmationsHealing Mantras: Using Sound Affirmations for Personal Power, Creativity, and Healing
Affirmations--Your Passport to Happiness

Dark Moon Night by WhispersWW

2010-08-10T21:57:00.000+10:00

Lily pads floating.

Darkness deep; moon veiled this night.

Boatmen dance, geese sleep.

Copyright © WhispersWW

Selected Amazon Links:
Cold Moon: The Erotic Haiku of Gabriel Rosenstock
Bamboo Moon (a Book of Insightful Haikus, Volume 1)
The Fish Jumps Out of the Moon: Haiku of Charles F. Kennedy

The Maple by Ann Åhsberg

2010-08-10T21:42:00.000+10:00

Big beautiful Maple,
you are just starting

your greatness

With young leaves,
light green in color

youthful beauty

In the near future,
you are in full leaf

chlorophyll-saturated

When the fall occurs,
you change your dress

a watercolor beauty

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
The Rain in the Trees
This One Tree (New Issues Poetry & Prose)
Men as Trees Walking (OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY)

The Puzzle by Cerridwyn Tiponi

2010-08-06T23:59:00.000+10:00

Morning dawned cold and grey. A light rain had been falling for some time, slowly drenching the ground. Aoife peeked out through the curtains and sighed, ‘Guess I’m not doing the laundry today after all.” She moved out of the bedroom and down the hall to her study. Walking onto the room, she headed straight to the specially made cabinet and opened one of the drawers. The drawer was shallow and only contained one item of major importance to Aoife. She carefully reached in, took hold of the tray within and gingerly removed it. She turned toward the large desk and placed it down on the surface. She didn’t move, didn’t even sit down on the chair. Instead she just stared at the puzzle, her mind a jumble of thoughts. Without realizing it, she slumped down on the chair and placed her chin in her hands. What was she hoping to see this time? She had no idea, but she felt compelled to study the puzzle again.

The puzzle had been completed many years ago, long before she was born. Someone had cared so much for it they had glued it together and framed it at some point. Time hadn’t been too kind to the puzzle for the once vibrant scene was now faded, probably from hanging directly with the path of the sunlight. When Aoife discovered it in the attic of her parents’ house the frame was dusty and falling apart. The glass was grimy and cracked. It had appeared to be abandoned since it was buried behind some large boxes. Forgotten. Neglected. However, she sensed that it meant something since no one ever threw it out. Instantly falling in love with it, she extricated it from the darkened space and took it to her home. Once home, she had set to lovingly care for it. Aoife had carefully dusted and cleaned the frame, although she had no intention of keeping the puzzle inside. It was merely a way of preventing the debris from attaching to the puzzle when she did remove it from the frame. She had then removed the matting which held the puzzle and inspected it closer. Although most of the puzzle had still adhered to the board, there were a few areas where she spotted flakes of dried glue and noted several loose pieces. Picking up a large, new and unused paintbrush, she gently brushed away the flakes. While she could have applied more glue to it, something or someone chided her and urged her to let it be. She had located a special display tray like the ones often used to cradle delicate artifacts and placed the puzzle, matte and all onto it. She then turned to her art cabinet with its oblong, shallow drawers and placed the puzzle inside. And there it sat for the last 15 years, only coming into the light when Aoife had felt the need, desire or inclination to gaze at it.

Over the years, she gently cleaned it by brushing off any dust and debris which would accumulate between her visits. Each time, she noticed more and more of the glue would flake away and she would feel sadness. She felt as if a part of her history was falling apart. All she could do was sigh dejectedly and tenderly care for the puzzle like she always did.

Gazing at the puzzle, she followed the flow of the faded scene as best as she could. Even taking her finger and lightly tracing the images underneath. She smiled wanly and mused about its origins. Still running her finger lightly over it, she came to the bottom right corner and noticed that the last of the glue had become brittle and flaky. She picked up her brush and swept the remains away. That was it. ‘The glue has finally come undone,’ she sighed heavily. There is nothing holding the puzzle together anymore. As she returned the treasured puzzle to its drawer, tears slowly ran down her face.

Copyright © Cerridwyn Tiponi

Selected Amazon Links:
Creative Writing: Four Genres in Brief
Writing Creative Nonfiction
The Soul of Creative Writing

Blissful Meadows by Ann Åhsberg

2010-07-31T16:39:00.001+10:00

You walk on blissful meadows
blessed, that what I think

You’re on the other side …

If I had wings like a little bird
I’d walk beside you,
hold your hand …

But …

You’re on the other side …

When you walk on blissful
meadows

you have no more pain,
you dance on light feet,
sing beautiful songs,
your sorrows are gone with the wind …

I’ll see you on the other side …

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
The Undiscovered Country: Poetry in the Age of Tin
From the Country of Eight Islands: An Anthology of Japanese Poetry
From the Country of Nevermore: Selected Poems (Wesleyan Poetry)

The Dreamer by Cerridwyn Tiponi

2010-07-28T20:56:00.000+10:00

Rose-colored glasses

Never sees the world’s decay

The dreamer lives on

Selected Amazon Links:
The Dream That Becomes Us: Haiku
Born of a Dream: Fifty Haiku by Basho, Buson, Taigi, Issa, Shiki
Vjetar bez sna =: Wind with no dream : haiku (Series Croatian haiku poets)

On a Bed of Moss by Ann Åhsberg

2010-07-26T20:23:00.001+10:00

Lying in a four-poster bed
on soft moss

looks up at the dark blue large meadow

where thousands of fires dance,
give me light

hear the sound of the waterfall,
a never-ending flow

rhythmic …

beautiful good night music,
automatically

birds in the summer night
match up ...

nature is well equipped,
has all I need

and make me sleepy …

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
Universal Verse: Poetry for Children
Henri Michaux: Poetry, Painting, and the Universal Sign
HEART + SOUL Poetry of Peace + Love for my Universal Circle of Friends

Anthem To The Trees by Ann Åhsberg

2010-07-24T07:15:00.001+10:00

The tall stately trunks, I walk in a colonnade

-repercussion calm

The soul of the trees,
within nature's harmony

-still are separate lives

If only I was,
a tree with it's long deep roots

-when the strong winds blows

Copyright © Ann Åhsberg

Selected Amazon Links:
Poetry for the Earth
Poetry of Earth
For the Good of the Earth and Sun: Teaching Poetry (Heinemann/Cassell Language & Literacy)

A Monday Morning It Was... by WhispersWW

2010-07-23T07:15:00.001+10:00

The day dawned with all the omens of a wonderful one. I awoke cleansed, shiny and bright and was looking into the light of the forthcoming hours with optimism and happiness. I enjoyed the company of my work colleagues and loved my job. The hustle and bustle of my workplace invigorated rather than tired me; even the incessant clatter & chatter didn’t worry me…focus is all in my line of work, you see. Could be messy if I were distracted.

However, what transpired on that fateful day was bad… very bad, if the truth be known. There’d been no hint, no sign, nary an inkling of the events that were to unfold over those tragic hours. It makes me shudder to recall them. But recall them I must; my therapist tells me this heartfelt outpouring is “an essential step along the path to my recovery.” I somehow have my doubts, but at this desperate juncture I am game to try anything.

So a Monday morning it was. The first Monday in December. The air, cool and dry as usual, was filled with the head-banging sound of Status Quo – “Get down deeper and down, Down down deeper and down.” God, will those lyrics ever leave my head? An ironic choice of tune given that our target for the day was, at that moment, lying face down shrouded in cloth as blue as an angel’s eye with just her blancmanged derriere cheeks mooning at all and sundry in a pose of utter indignity. Never ceases to amaze me what some people will do in the name of ‘beauty.’ Oh god, I mustn’t go off on one. Heather, she who’s my therapist, has told me I have to ‘stay on track’ during these ramblings otherwise it will all be futile. I always thought the point of rambling was to get off the track but there you go…all matter of semantics, I suppose. Anyway, where was I?...

Ah yes, I was going to introduce the main man, the conductor of our workplace orchestra and orchestrator of the dastardly deeds du jour. He who prefers heavy metal over Mahler. I am sure you can visualise him… 6’2”, tanned, muscles rippling in his forearms. Walks with a swagger and winks at anything as long as it’s female and below 24 in years and 8 in dress size. Thinks he’s God’s gift. Have often wondered how he manages to cope with us plebeian beings everyday.

Well, the day in question was the day I received the answer to my question.

As per, he strutted in snapping his gloves when all the hard ‘pre-work’ had been done. Blew a kiss at the anaesthetist (in irony it has to be said as he, the gas man, was male, 32 and incredibly, prettily camp) and began barking orders as he approached centre stage. He slowly cast his eyes over the pale, dimpled mounds smiling up at him and gently, with the most respectful of touches I have to admit, traced with his right forefinger the black ink lines that marked his battlefield for the next couple of hours.

During his moment of inner reflection I prepared myself for imminent work…this one is a demanding task master and ready we must be for he calls for us in an instant.

He raised his eyes, looked my way and my heart began its usual anticipatory race. My job is very important and responsible, you know. I cannot be complacent. I held my breath ready for the off, and then, right palm upturned and outstretched, he uttered the words that have changed my life forever,

“Nurse, laser scalpel, please.”

Laser scalpel?! Laser scalpel?! What? What? Laser? Cutting human flesh with something as ephemeral as light? Give me a break.

I strained to see what was going on. My colleagues and I had been nudged stage left so my view was somewhat obstructed. Couldn’t really see what he was doing. Laser?...oh come on. Words, admonitions, remonstrations ran through my mind at the speed of blood spurting out of a ruptured aorta.

Now you tell me, light, light, performing the delicate dance of a finely sharpened, precision-balanced surgical blade? Light, cleanly slicing through those obese buttocks…through the-oh-so delicate yet oh-so-strong layers of the skin with their tiny capillaries into the rich, yellow depth of adipose fat beneath? Puh-leeze. Is the egotistical heathen off his trolley?

No, but we were…literally. Sidelined by this stage to a bench way beyond even the edge of the action. Action that we were usually deep in the midst of. Us, sidelined. Us, who have been at the heart of this stage play since the times of the ancient Egyptians; times when high priests skilfully crafted us from obsidian and used us to perform their most sacred rituals. And now look at us. Does this man have no respect for age and experience? Casting us aside without further glance or thought because there is something newer, supposedly more efficacious around.

Oh Heather, Heather, dear therapist of mine. Enough. I am drained. This constrained rambling will have to do for now. No doubt you will say it’s not enough – that I still have a way to go on the ‘path of forgiveness.’ Well, you may be right…but I ask you…is it right to sideline us just because we are not as young as we were, because we still do things the old-fashioned way? Is it?

Copyright © WhispersWW

Selected Amazon Links:
Contemporary Creative Nonfiction: I & Eye
Herb Gardner: The Collected Plays (Applause Books)
Spunk & Bite: A Writer's Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style

Rivers of Honey by Cerridwyn Tiponi (Haiku)

2010-07-22T11:47:00.001+10:00

Rivers of honey

Flow thick with sticky sweetness

Pleasing on the lips

Copyright © Cerridwyn Tiponi

Selected Amazon Links:
Heavenly Haikus
Haiku-Sine : 217 Tiny Food Poems by Texans Who Love to Eat & Feed Their Heads
The Sound of Water: Haiku by Basho, Buson, Issa, and Other Poets (Shambhala Centaur Editions)

New Look Digg.com

2010-07-21T12:17:00.000+10:00

Have you checked out the New Look Digg? A great way to share news and information.
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If Only by JustKel

2010-07-21T11:12:00.001+10:00

If only I painted you Monets of warmth
from the heat of my heart to behold,
We'd frolic the world by a silvery swirl
combing crystalline rays of pure gold.

If only you'd unmask your eyes for to see
the truest of dreams to bestow,
We'd swoon to the tunes by the gleams of the moon
dancing whispered delights none could know.

If only you'd offer a glimpse of your core
from the treasured inhumes of your soul,
Forever we'd savor the blooms of true love
lest we die by our hearts never whole,

If only red tears from the blood of my being
could smite echoes of sadness afloat,
We could swing past the doom of our fate now foreseen
Yet I did... and you saw...
And you won't.

Copyright © Just Kel

Selected Amazon Links:
The Norton Anthology of Poetry
101 Great American Poems (Dover Thrift Editions)
A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry

Good Night Sleep Tight by StormSage

2010-07-19T07:15:00.000+10:00

I am here to help you cook your dinner,
even though you eat like a bird.
Just like a cake mix,
so many memories stirred.

Come on, its now time for a shower,
something you can not do for yourself.
I am your family, I am here for you -
In good and bad health.

Put your winter nightie on, it will keep you warm
and before I get you nice and snug,
take your slippers off, so that I
can give your aching feet a rub.

I tuck you in, pulling the sheets up high,
so that just your hands and head now show;
I stroke your forehead softly
and whisper "I love you, you know".

I kiss you on the forehead, just like a little girl -
again I say "I love you", as I hold your hand tight;
I let go and turn around to walk away, whispering,
"I love you Gran, sleep tight".

Copyright © StormSage

Selected Amazon Links:
Classical Baby: The Poetry Show
A Family of Poems: My Favorite Poetry for Children
The Poets' Corner: The One-and-Only Poetry Book for the Whole Family

Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide by WhispersWW

2010-07-18T08:15:00.001+10:00

Bali, June 2006, the island lashed by uncharacteristically wild winds and heavy rains that blanketed the mountains in deep, dark heather-grey cloud, bending palm trees and flattening rice; staining the sea a menacing charcoal and lacing its edges with spumes of bright white surf. Man and beast sheltering in the face of such unrelenting weather. Amidst it all an epidemic sweeping the island, one that no vaccine could have prevented nor medicine cure. Not bird flu, dengue fever or typhoid. World Cup Fever had struck. There was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide. There was simply no escaping it.

I may be British, and soccer seen as our national sport, but I have to admit that I am a cricket and rugby girl at heart. I have no difficulty watching men dressed in white hit a small red ball with a piece of wood, and then run between two more pieces of wood whilst their opponents chase around on the grass beside them trying desperately to get them ‘out’. Be it a hard and fast limited overs game or the strategic dance of a test match I really don’t mind. I love it all. And as for rugby, well, what girl doesn’t like to see big strapping men in tight shorts run up and down a pitch tossing and catching a pointy-ended ball? Scoring tries and kicking poetic drop goals. A tactical game that is as much brains as it is brawn and one I think is a delight to watch, either at test level or local. But as for soccer…well, I just have to admit, I have never got the point.

I am lucky to have been to rugby and cricket matches on several continents and shared the delights of those games with others of many nationalities but I have been to just one soccer match. In the late 1980’s, in London…Chelsea playing Millwall at home at Stamford Bridge. Those familiar with British football will recognize that this particular local derby would be one of high tension and aggression, however to me it was just another football game. It was only upon seeing the riot police with batons and shields and mounted policeman on horseback doing crowd control outside the stadium that I began to wonder what I had let myself in for.

In truth, I do not remember much about the match. I cannot even remember who won. What I do remember is the noise. The infamous songs sung on the terrace. I remember the energy in the stadium – so intense it was all but visible. I remember the vast quantity of missiles thrown onto the pitch – cans, bottles, rocks and toilet paper. And most of all I remember being terrified out of my skin. Just back from seven years in South Africa, well versed in self-defense, quite a tough cookie really and yet here I was, at a football match in England, reduced to mush.

Read the entire post Here.

Copyright © WhispersWW

Selected Amazon Links:
Communities (Social Studies)
Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?
Community Helpers 16" Flannelboard Figures - Kit
School of Assassins (Institutional: HS/Libraries/Community Groups)

Worthiness by Muffyjo

2010-07-17T11:18:00.000+10:00

All Are Worthy
When We Allow this to Be So.
For Although All are Worthy,
One may Feel Unworthy;
Sabotaging the Goodness
Of their Own True Self.
Our Perception of our "Self"
Allows or Disallows the Manifestation
Of our own Merit or Worthiness.

Copyright © Cheryl E Gordon

Selected Amazon Links:
Self-Esteem Affirmations
The Present Moment: 365 Daily Affirmations
Scientific Healing Affirmations: Theory and Practice of Concentration

Renew Newcastle Information Evening

2010-07-14T17:51:00.000+10:00

NB: This event is located in Newcastle, Australia

Are you interested in what Renew Newcastle is up to at the moment? Would you like to know more about how to make an application for your project?

We are keen to keep you up to date on our achievements so far, where we are headed and to let you know about opportunities for future projects in empty spaces.

This is an information night for interested members of the Newcastle community and for people who have put in or are considering putting in a project application.

With: Marcus Westbury & Marni Jackson

Date: Wednesday 4 August 2010

Time: 6:00pm - 7:00pm

Location: Renew Newcastle HQ, 3 Morgan St (In the former St Mark's Catholic Chapel, off Hunter St Mall). View Map here.

Hope to see you there! (Send Your RSVP here).

Copyright © Renew Newcastle

Selected Amazon Links:
7 Days To Blogging Success
Community Conversations: Mobilizing the Ideas, Skills, and Passion of Community Organizations, Governments, Businesses, and People
Creating Workplace Community: Motivation: Solutions, Ideas and Philosophies for Motivating Ourselves and Others

Master's Final Call by Keith Dugger

2010-07-10T18:59:00.000+10:00

A fire was coming. Dark and monstrous, it growled. It was searching for my fallen master and it was coming fast. I wanted to stay by his broken body to protect him, but I had a task to complete. Without the key pass, Master James would suffer a hell no man should have to endure.

The dry air burned through my lungs and snot froze to my whiskers as I ducked through the underbrush at a full run. My mother and my mother’s mother had trained me all my life for this mission. The keepers of the afterlife charged our species to watch over our master’s lives and, when that inevitable time arrived, aid them through the transition to the next world.

My single focus was to make it to the top of Mount Silesia and safely return with the key pass.

All his life Master had tended his farms, provided shelter and food for our family and protected us from the dangers of the deep woods. At the end of his last day, he’d fallen off his horse on a routine scout around our humble farm. He’d hit his head and wouldn’t move no matter how much I lapped at his rough face. I left his mare to watch over him while I reluctantly cast out on this dark path.

A sharp crack just off the overgrown path froze me in my tracks. I peered intently into the darkness, ready to attack should the sound morph into something more tangible. Behind me, the fire’s roar and growl of death tore up the mountainside unrelentingly at breakneck speed. The hair on my back bristled straight reminding me of that ornery porcupine that taunted me as a pup. I had to push forward though my paws twitched at the tenderness from running over the rough stone and thistle bush. And the thinning air made it difficult for me to focus.

‘The fire should be upon him by now. Why is it coming for me?’ I pushed forward, the homing stone was close. Even through the winter’s bite, I felt death’s warm breath bearing down on me. I tucked my tail under me and ran harder.

I skidded to a halt as the path broke into a small clearing, kicking up puffs of dust. The homing stone, a grey, smoothed-top rock, marked the middle of the circle.

A half moon volunteered some light, but the sky was black. A zigzag of demon orange slithered up the small mountain behind me.

‘Three barks to ward off evil spirits and wait. Two barks to call the key pass and wait. Three barks to pay homage to all those that had come before.’ I recited what my grandmamma had drilled into me. A lifetime of herding by day, and lying at my master’s feet by the fire at night and barking at invisible ghosts to keep them away from our tiny farmhouse. All my life was wrapped up in this ceremony and I was afraid.

I fought back a tear; I didn’t want him to go. Death had already swooped down on him, taken him from me. Now his soul waited on the hell hound to take him to hell or the key pass to fly him to heaven. He deserved my return.

I choked back three weak barks and waited for the spirit world to explode the sky with magical fireworks or fantastical flying machinery.

I barked two fierce and loud barks and waited for the ground to rumble and shake and crack open at my paws.

Read the entire peice here.

Copyright © Keith Dugger

Selected Amazon Links:
The Soul of Creative Writing
The Practice of Creative Writing: A Guide for Students
One Year to a Writing Life: Twelve Lessons to Deepen Every Writer's Art and Craft