Miss Pelican's Perch

Looking at my World from a Different Place

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Shine On, Harvest Moon

Super harvest blood moon

I had a solo moon-viewing party last night. The sea clouds parted long enough for me to capture a sliver of the super blood moon. What does one drink while moon viewing? I improvised this: coffee, milk, cocoa powder, agave nectar, almond extract, orange extract, cinnamon, and chile powder blended with a molinillo and poured over ice.  (I would think if you wanted to make this more adult, you could add a shot of Kahlua.)

Sipping a Mayan mocha under a bloody harvest moon.  Perfecto!

Ljgloyd, 2015


From the Valley to the Mountaintop

Today’s Daily Post prompt asks “Mountaintops and Valleys: Describe a time when you quickly switched from feeling at the top of the world to sinking all the way down (or vice versa). Did you learn anything about yourself in the process?”

Initially, I was not going to respond to this prompt, but now I feel compelled to share a difficult situation I experienced this week. I also tend not to share things of the spiritual or religious nature, but again I feel that I need to put this out there. I’m a writer, so I need to write even if it takes me outside both my and your comfort zones.

Earlier this week, I experienced a car problem. To make a long story short, I took my car to my local mechanic fully expecting this to be a simple situation easily remedied. After waiting all day to hear word of my car, I received a call from my mechanic giving me the worst possible news:

It was the transmission.

My mechanic said that the problem was beyond his ability to repair, and I needed to take it to a dealer to have the situation resolved. “This could cost you up to $10,000.”

As he described some of the various reasons for the problem, his words faded away and became a jumble. All I could hear was “ten thousand dollars”. How could I afford this repair? Could I afford to replace the car? Would the car have any trade-in value with this problem?. And what was I going to drive as the car was being repaired– if I could afford to have it repaired at all? Finally, I knew I would probably need to take time off from work to deal with the situation. All of these questions swirled in my mind as I struggled to keep from crying.

So instead of crying I started to pray. “Lord, you see the problem, you see my limitations, so could you please help me? Please?” I continued to pray as I drove the car from the mechanic to the dealer, hoping the transmission would not lock up and leave me stranded before I got there.

The dealer and his staff were cool and professional, but they would not tell me anything about the problem or the cost until they could diagnose the car. I would have to leave the car at least overnight. As I dejectedly sat at the dealer’s desk, I asked “is there somebody who could drive me home? ”

The dealer gave me a curious look and said “we’ll give you a loaner car.” A few minutes later I drove off the dealer’s lot in a brand-new car, the same model as mine so I was completely comfortable in handling it.

Fortunately, the next morning I was quite busy at work so I didn’t have time to dwell on the problem. The dealer had said he would call me during the day to give me a status report. By early afternoon I had not heard from him, so my anxiety level began to rise once again. I called the dealer. I called the dealer a second time. Finally I called the receptionist at the dealership and insisted on waiting until I could talk to the dealer. By this time I had worked myself up into the mindset that the car was not repairable and that I better get used a new and different lifestyle of using public transportation (which in my city is a slow endeavor and frightening prospect) .

At this point, I was now praying that I would not be angry at the dealer or his mechanics, to be gracious with them since they were doing the best they could do, and that I would accept whatever the outcome might be.

When the dealer finally got on the line with me, he was profusely apologetic. He explained that they were very busy that day and were only just finishing up with my car.

Then he said, “so here’s where we’re at….” I took a deep breath and prepared myself. “It’s not the transmission itself. It is the computer that talks to the transmission. It needed to be reprogrammed. This is an item that is under warranty and you will not have to pay for the repair.” I almost fell off my chair. Then he continued: “Also there is a recall item involving the flooring around the brake pedal. We fixed that for you also. And we fully serviced the car while we were at it. Oh, and since these are all under warranty, you don’t have to pay for the loaner car.”

Within three hours, I was driving my newly repaired car home, counting my blessings, and reflecting on the timing of this situation. You see, I drive about a thousand miles a month. Had this problem occurred six months from now, the car would no longer be under factory warranty and I would have had to pay for this repair.

The Lord had this all under control and completely planned out. He took me from a deep valley of anxiety to a mountaintop of joy and wonderment as I learned to trust Him through this situation.

It doesn’t get any better than that.

LJG. 2015


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No Cliffhangers Here: “Cindy’s Choice”

Today’s Daily Post prompt says this:  No Cliffhangers:  Write a post about the topic of your choice, in whatever style you want, but make sure to end it with “…and all was well with the world. “

What follows is actually a story I wrote two years ago.  It is a re-telling of the Cinderella story.  Of course, this fairy tale ends with “and they lived happily ever after.”

Cindy’s Choice

Cindy rolled the family’s beat up white minivan into the circular driveway of their sprawling Tudor-style house. When her stepsister married the Prince, the family had been given a home suitable to their new station as “royal in-laws.” The old minivan, though, was kept as an appropriate vehicle for Cindy to do the household errands. She turned off the engine and slid out of the van. She sighed and wiped her forehead as she walked towards the back of the van. It was going to be another scorching July day in the Valley.

Cindy did not dwell on the fact that it should have been SHE who married the Prince. Cindy knew that if she thought too much on the matter, she would spiral down to a dark place of despair, a place she feared she could not escape. Better if she just stayed focused on the life in front of her. She did, after all, get to live in a fine new house, even if it was as her step-family’s chief-cook-and-bottle-washer.

She heard the loud growl of an engine rumbling from the rear of the property. Cindy looked up and saw a tall young man in jeans, sweat-soaked red t-shirt and a white baseball cap. He gripped a leaf-blower and was slowly working his way towards her on the walkway. Cindy did not recognize him and figured her step-mother had one of her hissy fits and fired the old gardener. She noticed that the man had stopped his slow movement across the walkway and was staring at her. Cindy nodded a greeting at him and turned her attention to unloading grocery bags from the back of the van.

She had forgotten to take her canvas bags when she left for the market.  Instead she had to use the flimsy brown paper ones provided by the store. She struggled to get a grip around the bags since she did not not trust that their handles would hold. Finally, with two bags in each arm pressed close to her chest, Cindy skillfully slammed the van’s door shut with her foot and started down the walkway towards the kitchen door. The gardener stepped aside to let her pass. Cindy was aware of his gaze on her as she walked past him.

As she struggled to insert a key into the back door, she felt the bags in her arms shift. Before she could compensate she heard the sound of paper ripping. “No!” she cried out. Canned peaches, bananas, and a number of other items spilled out onto the back steps. The lid of a quart of Rocky Road ice cream popped off and rolled into the shrubbery.

“Shnuzbuckett!” Cindy swore as she set the rest of the bags down. She stooped to pick up the grocery items. She heard a chuckle.

“Shnuzbuckett?  Better watch that salty language.” The gardener approached her, holding the lid from the ice cream container.

Cindy glared at him but did not respond.

“Let me help you.” The gardener picked up a can of tuna and a bunch of radishes.


“My name is Larry. What’s yours?”

She hesitated but then replied, “Cindy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Cindy”.

“You’re new,” she said

“Yep, the temp agency sent me over this morning. Seems like the old gardener wasn’t working out.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Are you part of the staff?”

Cindy laughed. “You could say so. I’m Mrs. Chesley’s step-daughter but I sort of run the household.”

“So you’re a family member. I’m sorry if I was too forward.”

“That’s okay. I won’t tell.” Cindy smiled and motioned Larry into the kitchen. They both plopped the displaced groceries on the counter. Larry went back out the door, picked up the rest of the grocery bags, and brought them in.

“Thank you again.  You want some iced tea? I’m getting some for myself. It’s so hot!”

“Well, since I’ve already overstepped myself I might as well go all the way and have a drink with the boss’s daughter.”

“Step-daughter. I’m not exactly royalty around here.”

“Yes, I heard this place had a royal connection. Is that true?”

“Yes, indeedy….” Cindy looked into Larry’s dark eyes. There was something familiar about him that made her feel so at ease. After a few minutes more of chit-chat, she couldn’t help herself. She found herself telling him the whole story: her circumstances, the Prince, the Ball, and those blasted Italian clear plastic pumps.

As she spilled out the story, Larry stopped her at one point. “‘Fairy God-Mother?’ Seriously?”

“Well, that’s what I call her. Her name’s actually Loretta. She’s the hair dresser who lived next door to us in the old neighborhood. I went to her house whenever things got tough at home. She would always listen to me. And she was always trying to fix me up with boys. She’s the one who convinced me to go to the Ball. Got me all dolled up and everything. She even arranged the limo — icky shade of orange — but a really sweet ride. Anyway.. where was I? Oh, yeah..” Cindy continued with the rest of the tale.

“Finally, when the Prince came around with the plastic shoe looking for me, I was at the dry-cleaners picking up some stuff for my step-mother. By the time I got home, the Prince had already tried the shoe on my step-sister Tiffany and taken her off to the Palace. They got married right away. Who knew we wore the exact same size shoe? ”

“Didn’t you say something? You had the other shoe, didn’t you?”

“My step-mother had already thought of that and hid the other shoe from me. So I had nothing to prove anything.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She claimed that I should not have gone to the Ball in the first place and that I was trying to steal the Prince from Tiffany.”

Larry took a sip of tea. “Well…. If you ask me, it sounds like you dodged a bullet.”


“Let’s look at this: The Prince throws a ball to meet chicks and decides right then that you would be the right girl for him.”

“Yeah, pretty silly of him to pick me….” Cindy responded.

“Don’t get me wrong — I can see why he would fall head-over-heels for you. You’re sweet and cute and all that, but you deserve to be courted just like any lady. A long, slow and romantic courtship.”

Cindy’s felt an odd twinge in her stomach. “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“AND didn’t he even bother to look at her face? He couldn’t see that your step-sister wasn’t you.?

“Yeah, you’re right. Some guys just can’t….” Cindy flushed, “well, some can’t see above the chest… Sorry.”

“S’okay. I can’t argue with that, though.”

Suddenly a voice screeched from upstairs. “Cindy, is that you? Who are you talking to?”

“Yes, Mother Chesley, it’s me. I’m talking to the new gardener.”

“Tell him I don’t pay him to talk and to get back to work. Did you get the ice cream like I told you?”

Cindy jumped to her feet and put the softening Rocky Road ice cream into the freezer. “Yes, ma’am, I got it.”

“Lucky for you you didn’t forget it. Humph.”

Cindy sat down across from Larry and sighed.

“Nice,” he said.

“Sorry about that.”

“Why do you put up with that?”

“Because she’s my step-mother. What else can I do?”

“Lot’s of things. You’re an adult. You don’t have to stay here.”

Cindy got back up and began putting the rest of the groceries away. “It’s not that easy. I don’t have any money or skills. Where would I go? What kind of job would I get? At least here, I have a nice roof over my head.”

“Man, they’ve really messed with your head.”

Cindy turned to him. “You don’t know anything about this. You —“

Suddenly, the back door slammed open and a pudgy teen-aged girl stomped in. She had a scowl on her face.

Cindy said, “Hi, Crystal.”

The girl motioned towards Larry. “Who’s he?”

“This is Larry, our gardener. Larry, this is Crystal, one of my sisters.”

“I’m not your real sister.” Crystal moved a disdainful gaze up and down Larry and made a loud snort. She turned and yanked open the refrigerator door. “Did you get some diet soda?”

“Um, no, I don’t think you put it on the shopping list.”

“You know I drink only diet soda.” Crystal took one of the regular sodas out of the refrigerator and slammed the door. “I guess I’ll have to drink a sugared one. If I get fat, it’s your fault, you idiot.” She stomped out of the kitchen.

Larry reached over and touched Cindy’s arm. “Honey, like I said, you don’t have to put up with this abuse.”

“But what can I do?”

“Well, if you’re asking me, may I suggest you go back to school and learn to do something else. I’m going to night school right now, taking business courses. I want to open my own landscaping firm. What are you interested in?”

“Um.. well…. I guess I’m a pretty good cook. Maybe I could learn to be a real chef.”

“There you go! And it doesn’t have to be a trade. Maybe you could be something like a college professor.”

It was Cindy’s turn to snort. “Yeah, right. Anyway, education costs money and I don’t have any.”

“Borrow it.”

“From who? I am completely alone.”

Larry gave her a soft look. “Sweetie, no one is ever really alone. All you have to do is make the choice and the help will come.”

Cindy and Larry gazed at each other for several moments. Something akin to hope stirred in Cindy. The spell was broken when they both heard the slam of a car door and the front door swing open.


“That’s Tiffany,” she said to Larry, “the one who married the Prince. I wonder what she’s doing here.”

Tiffany stormed into the kitchen. She wore a crisp white linen suit. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon and she had on a pair of huge sun glasses. She stopped and looked towards Larry.

“Who’s he?”

Cindy sighed and introduced him.

“In the palace the gardeners stay outside,” she pointedly said to Larry.

Larry stood and slowly drained his glass. As he set it down on the table, he leaned in to Cindy and whispered, “You’re in control. It’s your choice.” He pulled his cap tightly on his head and nodded towards Tiffany. “Ma’am.” He gave one more glance at Cindy before he walked out the back door.

“Is Mom here?” Tiffany asked.

“Yes, she upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“This is what’s wrong.” Tiffany pulled off her glasses. Her left eye was swollen nearly shut and showed purple and blue bruising around it and down her cheek.

Cindy gasped. “What happened? Were you in an accident?”

“If you call my marriage an accident….”

Mrs. Chesley waddled into the kitchen. “Is that Tiffany? Tiffany what are you doing here?” She let out a small cry when she saw Tiffany’s shiner.

“Did he do that to you?”

Tiffany hung her head.

Mrs. Chesley reached an arm around her daughter. “I knew you two were having trouble but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Dumb-nuts finally figured out that I am not HER.” Tiffany glared at Cindy. “Got himself all worked up and swore up and down that we tried to dupe him. Said he was going get the marriage annulled and take back everything he had given us.”

“Including the house?” Mrs. Chesley eyes were wide with fear.

“Yeah. So I reminded him that his public opinion rating wasn’t too high and a nasty divorce would make him look even more like the jerk he is. That’s when he popped me. I should have called the cops and had him arrested. I don’t care if he is a prince.”

“You will do no such thing,” Mrs. Chesley sternly said. “Things are already bad enough.”

Mrs. Chesley swung around to face Cindy. “This is all YOUR fault!”

“MY fault? How?” Cindy felt her cheeks flush and an odd feeling rising up in the pit of her stomach.

“If you hadn’t butted in and gone to the Ball, the Prince would never have met YOU. And his shorts wouldn’t be all in a wad right now. You need to fix this and fix it fast.”

“Me? What can I do?”

“Yeah, what can she do?” said Tiffany.

“Well, it’s obvious that you’re on the way out, Tiff, as far as he’s concerned. We’ll just let him do his quiet little annulment and then Cindy can move on him. Then Cindy can say it was all a big misunderstanding, blah, blah, blah…. ”

Both Cindy and Tiffany cried out “What?”

“Shut up, both of you. Cindy, if you don’t do this, we’ll all be out on our butts. You’d better do this for all of our sakes.”

Something in Cindy shifted. It was as if the air suddenly cleared and everything had fallen into place.

She quietly turned towards the kitchen counter and picked up her purse.

Mrs. Chesley said, “What are you doing?” Cindy walked to the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m outta here.”

“You can’t leave. We need you.” Cindy was out the door and heading down the driveway. Mrs. Chesley held on to the door frame and screamed, “You useless little ingrate! You’re worthless. Go ahead and get out. You’ll be crawling back before the end of the week. See if I’ll take you then!

Larry’s truck was parked near the service gate. He had just finished loading up his leaf-blower and tying it down. He looked up as Cindy approached and smiled.

Cindy said to him, “I’ve made a choice.”

“Good girl!”

“Can you give me a lift to my friend Loretta’s house?”

“I can do you one better.” He opened the door to his truck’s cab and with a flourish motioned Cindy to climb in. As she stepped on the running board, she saw an older women already in the cab.  The woman smiled at Cindy.

“Loretta!” Cindy flung herself on the woman and hugged her.

“Cindy! It’s so good to see you. I see that you’ve met my grandson, Lawrence.”

“Larry? He’s your grandson?”

“Yes he is and he’s a real prince, isn’t he.”

Cindy laughed and settled into the cab between Loretta and Larry.

And they all drove off and lived happily ever after.

ljgloyd, originally published 2013.



Handwritten: On the Physical Act of Journaling

Today’s Daily Post prompt: “Handwritten:  When was the last time you wrote something by hand? What was it?”

Easy answer:

journal page

I usually brainstorm by hand in this journal, but then I actually do the heavy writing on computer.   To learn a little more about my actual journaling practice, take a look at this video I made a few months ago:

Postscript:  I apologize if I am mispronouncing “Moleskine” and “cahier.”

ljg 2015



Louisa and I

muchaToday’s Daily Post prompt says this: Worlds Colliding — Take two main characters from two different books (either fiction or nonfiction) and introduce them to, or have them meet, each other. What would happen next?

I just could not come up with two characters from different books. I did toy with the idea of having a TV character, James T. Kirk get fresh with Lizzy Bennett from Pride and Prejudice, but I just don’t have the time to develop that story today.  However, the prompt did make me think of a story I wrote about ten years ago where I, in my imagination, get to meet a famous author.   So I am going to deviate from the prompt and re-post that story.

A bit of context regarding this story is necessary:   In 2006 I was involved in an interactive writing project at the Soul Food Cafe. The project was to write a series of stories based in the fictional realm of Christine de Pizan’s City of Ladies situated in the mythical realm of Lemuria.  We posted our short stories on a blog of the same name.   In my stories, I made myself a bartender in a pub that I named the Il Taverna di Muse. What follows is one of several adventures my character had in the City of Ladies. Enjoy.


A Chance Meeting at the Apothecary in the City of Ladies

It was “Mojito Week” at Il Taverna di Muse, and the Proprietress sent me to the Apothecary Shop to purchase bundles of fresh mint leaves, an essential ingredient for the drink. I was excited to make my first visit to the Shop as I had heard it was an extraordinary sensory experience.

The moment the door chimes announced my entrance into the Shop I was assaulted by the pungent scent of spices, the earthy smell of fresh clipped herbs, bundled and hanging from the rafters, and the warm, inviting aromas of tea and fresh baked pastries.

Besides providing apothecary services to the neighborhood, the Shop was also a place for writers and craftspeople to gather who preferred a quieter, less frenetic environment. There were some tables and chairs near the pastry section and in the back was the Stitching Room were some textile artists were piecing together a quilt.

After I made my purchase and was heading toward the door with the wrapped bundle of mint under my arm, I noticed a middle-aged woman in a Victorian-style dress, black silk with starched white lace around the collar. Her hair was pulled high and she balanced a pair of wire glasses on her nose. She was busy reading a book. I stopped and stared for a moment. She was so familiar. Then I knew—it was her!

The woman became aware of me and looked up. “May I be of assistance?” she said with a prim clip.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to stare… you look just like…. I mean…. Oh what am I trying to say….Ma,am, are you Miss Alcott? Louisa May Alcott?”

“I am she.”

“Oh, this is such an honor, Miss Alcott! I’ve enjoyed your work so much.”

“Thank you, my dear. I am gratified that my little women mean so much to you.”

“Ma’am, I wasn’t referring to Little Women—I mean, don’t misunderstand me, Little Women was wonderful, but I was referring to your…your…..”

“Potboilers? Blood and Thunder stories?”

“Well, yeah.” I sheepishly smiled.

“Please, have a seat, my dear.” She smiled. “Most of my readers don’t know about those stories.”

“And it’s a shame—Pauline’s Passion and Punishment, A Long, Fatal Love Chase, and my favorite, A Modern Mephistopheles—they were innovative, way ahead of their time.”

“Their time?”

“Oh, yes, well, you see, I’m from your future. It’s a little strange, I know.”

“Strange? My dear, this is Lemuria. Everything is strange in Lemuria.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So you read my potboilers?”

“Yes, ma’am, as part of a research project.”

“My works will be researched? “

“Yes, indeed. You were, er, ARE, one of the first feminists. Your women’s suffrage work is well documented and your literary works reflect this as well.”


“Yes, a person who supports women’s rights and strives for justice and social equality.”

“I see. And you see this in my writings?”

“Yes. Your female characters are fiery, independent women, most particularly in your potboilers, but even in Little Women—Jo for example.”

Miss Alcott chuckled. “May I share a secret with you, uh…..”


“Lori, the fact of the matter is….” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I wasn’t very eager to write Little Women.

I suppressed a smile. I already knew that her publisher pushed her to write this simple moral tale for children. “Really!” I said.

“No, I didn’t really want to write it. Very dull and ordinary.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I very much enjoyed writing my potboilers. They are so …lurid.” I believe Miss Alcott was beginning to blush. She continued, “The women in those stories were far more interesting and….and….” She struggled for a word.

“…More real?” I said.

“Yes, indeed. More real.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Is that the time?! Miss Alcott, I don’t want to be rude but I really need to get back to the Taverna.”

“Of course, dear. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Miss Alcott.” I headed towards the door.

“Miss Lori.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Did women ever get the right to vote, in the future, I mean?”

“Yes, ma’am, we did.”

Miss Alcott picked up her book and resumed her reading.

“Outstanding” she muttered with a smile.

Lori Gloyd © 2006, 2015. Original post for this story: https://cityofladies.wordpress.com/2006/08/21/a-chance-meeting-at-the-apothecary-shop/


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In the Storm Drain

Just another short tale    …..


Ingrid flung her suit jacket over the back of the sofa as she stomped out the front door.  She began steamrolling her way down the sidewalk.

Exene. That lying, manipulating, lazy excuse for a manager. Ingrid clenched her fists as she charged down the street on what was usually her evening stroll to relax and unwind.

Ingrid replayed in her mind the scorching exchange she had that morning with her co-worker.  They had argued over a project that Ingrid had developed and implemented and for which Exene took all the credit. This was not the first time Exene had pulled this stunt, but this time it was more than Ingrid could tolerate.  The conversation had ended on an ugly note.

Ingrid passed into a pool of yellow light. It evaporated as the streetlamp snapped off.

“Great,” Ingrid muttered as she peered at the broken concrete in front of her. “All I need to make this a perfect day is to trip and break my neck.” Ingrid sidestepped the upturned concrete slabs.  There was no moon, and Ingrid had difficulty navigating in the darkness created by the low hanging limbs of the giant magnolias that lined the street. She was relieved to finally enter another ring of light at the corner. As she rounded the sidewalk and started down Cedar Street, the light extinguished just as the other had done.

“Oh, c’mon! What is going on with these lights? Is it me?”   For some reason, Ingrid thought of Kristen, her other office mate, who was always commenting on Ingrid’s “erratic energy.”

Kristen also bore witness to Ingrid’s daily battles with Exene.  Ingrid snorted. “Kristen’s a whack-job too.” Most of the time Ingrid enjoyed Kristen’s sweet, chirpy disposition. Not today. “‘Maybe Exene doesn’t realize what she’s doing. She’s under pressure too, y’know,'” Ingrid mimicked. “Give me a freakin’ break.”   Both of them were driving her completely nuts.

Ingrid stormed down the street past her neighbors’ houses.  Up ahead she could see another large break in the sidewalk where tree roots had pushed up the concrete. As she stepped off the curb into the street to detour the obstruction, she passed by the grated cover of a storm drain. She heard a faint rustling coming from just inside the drain and slowed her stride to get a better look.  A louder scratching sound erupted from it. Ingrid gasped and jumped out of what she thought would be the range of an angry raccoon’s charge.

“I hate those things!” Ingrid picked up speed and moved on.  As she settled into her stride,  her thoughts returned to the conversation with Kristen. “Ingrid, I know Exene gives you a hard time, but being angry all the time with her doesn’t change things. It hurts you more than it hurts her. All that negativity you have towards her is going to turn inward. You need to forgive her for your sake, if not hers. If you don’t, that anger and resentment will be like a monster eating you from the inside out.”

“She has a lot of nerve telling me to forgive her,” Ingrid grumbled.  Kristen had not been at the company for that long so she certainly did not understand the history Ingrid had with Exene. “What does she know about it? I have every right to be mad!”

Ingrid had worked her pace up to a near jog. As she approached the next corner, she passed between a sprawling jade bush that partially obstructed the sidewalk. As she brushed by the plant, a rasping, coughing sound came from beneath it — something akin to a growl.

“Bloody hell!” Ingrid did not stop to look at what had made the noise. It could not be a raccoon.  She took off and rocketed down the street at a full run.

Out of the corner of her eye, black shapes seemed to pulse from between the houses, the trees and the shrubbery.  The shadows seemed to be reaching towards her. She could not find her voice to cry out, but she knew that no one would come to her aid if she did.

She heard the sound of running footsteps come up behind her.  Her breath coming hard now, she did not slow her pace to look behind. She had to get home. She had only a block and half to go.

Ingrid rounded the last corner onto her street and nearly stumbled as she came to a halt.  Standing before her was a massive, black shape — a darkness so deep that she could not see through it.   The shape stood between Ingrid and her front door.

It looked somewhat human, but she knew it was not.

She knew exactly what it was.  Trembling, Ingrid sank to her knees as the being lumbered towards her.

A single thought flew into her mind and she muttered:

“Kristen, you were right.”

ljg 2015


A Collage: Eye of the Raven.

A small collage I made a number of years ago, this piece serves as a writing inspiration.   The symbolism  is complicated so I won’t go into it here, but it works for me.

It is posterboard with original photography of a raven, a digitally created mandala, art paper, acrylic paint and medium, green crystal beads, and freshwater pearls. It is entitled “Eye of the Raven. ”




Ljg. 2006, 2015