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At the Water’s Edge: White September 2, 2016

Posted by wimynspeak in Bee Write!, General.
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White-capped waves roll under white clouds that scudder across a blue-white washed-out sky. The day, hazy at first, has lightened into quiet — save for the soft shushing of the water and the background hum of buzzing insects, all is silent. Even the wind makes no sound, sighing high in the bleached sky where only the clouds feel its gentle nudge. The sun blazes behind the clouds, dispersing its heat on a lazy earth, but holding fast to its golden glow, keeping it greedily for itself, the clouds backlit while soaking up the honeyed rays, unable to share, though, unlike the sun, willing. Generous, they are impotent in the face of their own nature, their inability to create light. The white-topped waves fail to notice anything amiss and continue to roll toward the pale sand beach.

And this is where the white waves find her, on the pale sand beach, cloaked in white, a mirror of the scuddering clouds. She sits now at the water’s edge and the white waves spiral around her, pushing into her skirt and then receding in a rhythmic pulse tapped out by the hidden moon, leaving in their wake a large white snake, which hisses, but does not strike, does not leave. In her hand the woman holds an earthen bowl filled with warm turquoise water shimmering with crystals within. She tips the bowl slightly to show the white snake, who merely nods.

The water in the bowl bubbles and boils and the crystals in the warm turquoise water rearrange themselves and rise from the bowl, a shimmering tree that speaks of life in its light, and causes the white snake to dance, as if only now it has heard the melody tapped out by the hidden moon. The waves on the shore darken and the greedy sun retreats, as the glowing tree grows and encompasses all the light there is to see. The clouds give up their brightness easily, willingly, just as happy to be grey or black as white. To them, only the wind has consequence.

Pesky Karma January 15, 2015

Posted by wimynspeak in Absurd Shorts, General.
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A perky penguin in a purple cloak with patched pockets interrupted the reflective reverie of the fancy fox sitting at the far end of the painted pier. “I just found this,” the perky penguin in the purple cloak with patched pockets said, “over there at the periphery of the pretty pond, where the sand is saturated with the shiniest and most sensational shells to be seen anywhere. I think it’s a fossil.”

The fancy fox opened one elegant expert eye and glanced at the object the perky penguin in the purple cloak with patched pockets held out to him. “It’s a sand dollar,” he said, “not a fossil. Still breathing, in fact. Put it back.”

“It’s living?” said the perky penguin in the purple cloak with patched pockets, surprised and skeptical, believing that the fancy fox was trying to fool him into fallible folly. He was about to drop the sand dollar into the patched pocket of his purple cloak when the thing in his hand squeaked savagely and nearly slid from his greedy grasp.

“Put it back,” the fancy fox said again firmly, rapidly rolling his elegant expert eyes, “or that sorry sand dollar’s demise goes on your karmic record. No small consequence, believe me.”

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