marlibar
Track! I like to keep track of the animal tracks which imprint the snow along the railway tracks leading into the forest. By my side, in my little cabin, a tracker dog lies waiting as I check my tracker shares... Where's this story going?
I can't keep track....
Long tendrils twined through the opening in the wall Some climbing plant that she could neither recognise nor name threw out thick stumpy tendrils and clung to the caked walls like a frieze. She threw back the mosquito net which Arcona had draped over the bed and gazed at the thick rope stem of the plant. She glanced at it as she wiped a trickle sweat from her brow. A movement caught her eye. An ant, scurrying the length of it... a few ants...more... as her eyes took steady focus she became aware . The whole plant was a highway for soldiering ants...
It was a short flirty skirt. Lime green to match the patent leather shoes. A plastic beaded necklace matched perfectly. She admired the swirl of colour in the vending machine glass as she dropped her coin in...
The more I tried to think about it, the more the haze in my head spread. Thoughts grew thin and a gauze curtain in my brain slowly parted onto emptiness.
Later, as I drove along forty second street, the answer came. I'd had the clue all along... deep inside my own self
A white stone marked the beginning of the maze. Pete and Haannah peered into the spiralling path edged with shrubbery. Hannah sunk down on her hind legs and braced her forepaws. 'No way!' she seemed to say...
Light, sound, music smoke and drums beat in the darkening sky while the stars twinkle through the haze a man is cooking kippers on a barbecue while the ladies swirl in brightly coloured clothes and neon necklaces against the dewy grassy hill.
'It's a savage attack' is the first thing that comes to mind. Stereotypical dogs, slated by the press. Demonised groups.Yet to consider the two sylables seperately, the one word, 'sav-age' can be viewed as 'sav' from savoir the French verb 'to know' and 'age'.
A new definition could be, 'wisdom coming of age' !! mmm! I quite like that
wd 40 smells distinctively of garages, mended bicycles and garage floors. Oily rags and crates of rusty tools. Where is the glamorous 'Fonz' on his bike, I ask?
She...tying strings behind her waist with flour dusted hands, I remain still, standing, watching.
Here at her side I learn the art of baking, brushing pastry with a brush dipped in milk. Learn to crimp the edges between finger and thumb. Wait for the waff from an oven door. Warm, tempting.. golden.