Bluebirds and Birch trees

 I'm running on cookie power. Cookie power and music, and this mornings coffee. Talking books and stories, with sailing ships or sealing wax. No cabbages, but possibly Kings.  A friend of mine and I are similar in many ways. Though our thoughts on our stories is nearly identical.  My good friend Bronze, at the  the Rambling Line . Who has an amazing blog and writing talent by the way.  We run on milk and cookies along with the virtual insanity of creativity. We know no bounds. Nor do we see any, hence why we don't know them. See you when we see you! If at all. You really never know where we'll end up.

 To be told you are special, is something that can make your heart lurch or dance. It is different coming from someone who is not family, or you haven't known them for very long.  To be told you have a gift. Can make you wonder. As it did me.  But during that moment I realized one simple thing. I cannot see myself as others do.  I don't see myself with others because I'm unable to. I don't hear my own voice the same way, or think of my art or writings to ramblings in the same light. Because I am muddling it all up in my mind with other thoughts that come in but are unspoken.  However, there are people that do. There are people now who have told me something so simple that it has made me rethink so much. Because I over-complicate, I do know that. Almost as if I love to make them complicated, when in reality I don't need too, or in fact want too.  "You've got something in you girl!" That is all it took! That's all I needed that night. That...

A number of smaller things have happened, though none the less intriguing. Though I may be unable to remember what they all were exactly, on the days they might have happened, I am left with the feeling or the sense of what they were. A flower bud trapped in the hair from a bush. A dance in song with the Lord during worship. A sense of belonging and the feeling of friendship, from those who genuinely want to know you.  The rush of feeling the urge to write again. And listening this time. Beginning to understand my own self and my own writing, or lack thereof.  Last November I wrote almost 28,000 words of what I attempted to make into a romance novel. I however was vastly unsuccessful. Whether it be poor beginning planning, or simply how it was supposed to turn out for it being year one in NaNoWriMo.  I don't think the first draft was useless, I just most likely wont end up doing a lot with it now that I have begun again, and it is going the way I wished it to be. I wil...

It feels so real even though it's far. The roll of distancing thunder. The roll of the waves of rain. Thundering. Pounding even. The sounds that life brings. All the rolling crashing booming shaking thunder. It just feels so real. Was this all a dream? No. It was real. Those she had talked to and written to were real. Their stories were full, both of grace and of sadness. But life is like a piano, both black and white to make music. And that is what this was, and is. Her fellows, her friends, the chaps that talk till the late night hours, and morning sunrises. The ones who share dreams and hopes, to laugh and hope with. To find someone to fit along your piece and to share in a piece of the puzzle that we all ultimately form. And the world we ourselves have brought together. For we are the world builders. And we are dreamers. We are lovers. And we are warriors. We share dragons and tales of long and old forgotten times. To shake away the dusts of time that have covered the beautif...

 Mrs. Hemmingsworth of Valadin lane had only one thing mind, and one thing only. To find someone who could and would make her, the most perfect cup of tea.  Some would make it too strong, while others too weak.      Some would add too much milk, or not enough cream. And heaven forbid those who dared approach her about adding in green.  Mrs. Hemmingsworth of Valadin Lane had tried and tried again in vain, to find the one person who could and would make her, the perfect cup of tea.  The only one that had come close, was a student from France on a business trip, but despite all things, they had forgotten to add in the cream.  So they were out, and like a shot. Till good old Mrs. Hemmingsworth had gotten her leave.  So about one morning at half past ten, she came across one girl with a doll and a pen.  "You're looking for someone to make you tea?" She asked. Mrs. Hemmingsworth agreed, for it was no secret that it was she, the o...

 The rhythmic sound. A slight crunch with just enough sweetness. The warmth from the open window. And light from beyond the curtains. His apron full of apple peel rings, and scattered 'cross the floor. And all on the table, so many many more. His brown boots surrounded by gold and red alike, and pieces of other things mingled in the light. The buzz from humming a slightly off key tune, matching up with the swishing broom  Getting up from his seat, and the peels falling to the floor. He carried a large wooden bowl, out the door. Walking round the white farm house, sitting down out back. He picked up from the garden, herbs and bric-a-brac. Seasoning his dish of apple rings, he headed back inside to finish up things.  The crust was ready, the oven was bright. And there was to be sure, to be pie tonight.  So to be sure that this is the story of an apple that made it to pie. The tale of a man, who had but one skill.  To make the one and only very best, apple pie...

 Tonight was marvelous in many ways. Brothers and youth group, Friends and laughter, Songs and tears, Smiles and spoken truths, Belief and bravery. All things from paper to peanut butter hearts. On the verge of our lives. When a youth leader manages to say a line directly from a song that I have heard, and one no less that I have personally applied to following God. Saying that we are "out on the verge" with God. This is what came to mind. Clearer than a lot of things that have been in my head lately. Brothers and youth group, Tonight I brought my brother with me to church. He met someone who had rapidly become my best friend where I live. And they (according to my friend with a fist bump) "We're friends now!" Friends and laughter,  Talking loud and simply laughing with each other over mutual weirdness and compliments. Admitting to not always singing on key but doing it anyway because, "I am making a joyful noise and it doesn't matte...