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About Literature / Artist Core Member LJUnited States Groups :iconword-smiths: Word-Smiths
 
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Newest Deviations

Literature
Grace
The mountain stag stands
Like a listening statue,
He hears the doe sigh.
Autumn antlers and red coat,
Oh!--courting grace while we wait.
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Literature
A Little Help Goes a Long Way
     The woman walked much faster than usual, and her face glowed, her mouth in a smile that hinted she'd just gotten great news. I noticed her while outside my seniors-only apartment, where my neighbor and I were chatting. I watched her walk toward us, and saw her fall. 
     She tripped over a tree root. She quickly brought her other leg around to catch herself, but that foot also tripped on the edge of the sidewalk. She fell hard, out full-length on the concrete. I ran to her side. She got up on her knees and I put my arm around her shoulder.
     "Are you hurt?" I asked.
     She said, "Hold me" so I put my other arm around her, too.  
     She said, "Hold me now" and I planted my feet, so she could get up with me as a wall.
     She did. It went well. But she had blood on her mouth and looked dazed. She said "No" to my neighbor, who
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Mature content
Leaving Home in a Hurry :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 4 41
Literature
The Eyes Have It
    We had sixty laying hens at the commune, and I was the "chicken lady." I worked on the chicken coop, building double-walls full of insulation, a sloping roof with a skylight, and a yard completely enclosed with chicken wire. I buried the wire about a foot deep on the perimeter and made it go overhead as well, to defeat any predators. Nesting boxes were inside, and old tires cut in half for feeders.
    The chickens were White Leghorns, good for egg production, but not so good to eat. So I can't really tell why I decided to kill one of them. Perhaps it was sick. I isolated sick chickens, and maybe this one just got worse. In any case, it got a death sentence.
    I carried  the hen to the chopping block used for splitting wood, and used a hatchet to chop off its head. I was extremely squeamish about the whole thing. It felt like murder to me. I was determined, but unhappy about it. I
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Literature
Root-Bound
     Root-bound, just like that jade plant outside. It's still growing, though, and I'm not sure I am. There are so many stories to tell, they make me feel tired -- and root-bound. I pour water slowly over the jade, down by its trunk, a woody thing with a lot of woody branches. New leaves grow on those branches all the time. Where should I look for water to do the same for me? To keep me alive? To let me grow new leaves?
     I'll do it myself, for you.
     It wasn't a bad dream that made me call my absent mother that night. Midge came in late and I sat up to greet him, but he accused me of sleeping with Howard. Crazy. Howard was with his beautiful wife, Rosanna, in a bed next to ours, with a blanket hung between the beds. Midge started hitting me in the face and at first I yelped "Help!" But when Howard came partway through the blanket, I glanced at a knife Midge had put on the nightstand, and Howard retr
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Literature
Night Visions II
     The girl drove too fast through the darkest hour of the night. She was fifteen years old, pushing a car almost twice that age to near eighty miles per hour. The motor whined under the pressure of her foot on the accelerator. It was a motor held together with baling wire and a shade-tree mechanic's blessing, her cousin's usual tools.
      Adeleine felt free, like the car was her own body speeding forward. She wanted to drive forever. She felt both younger and older, like she was the night itself and all it held. The car was her means to move faster than she'd ever done before.
      The girl hurried to get herself and her cousin to meet Uncle at Four Corners on time for breakfast. At least, that was the excuse she'd give her cousin if he ever woke up. She glanced at him, a dark shape asleep on the passenger side, head cushioned by his jacket on the window. She'd let him sleep while she forged ahea
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Literature
The Tip of an Iceberg
     The snow seemed over for the season. The Rockies were warmer, and, at the commune, the Red Rockers enjoyed the weather. I was in my little camper trailer with my daughter, the door and windows open to the big, beautiful view. We could hear the truck and the car come up the road to the second meadow, and we both watched the road to see who it was. Nancy was working in her garden and she stood up to see, too.
     A new truck and a splendid car arrived, and I was dismayed. Who had vehicles like that if not the rich guy? Sure enough, they were driven by the two local cowboys who took care of the rich guy's ranch a few miles away. Jorge and Smithy were the cowboys' names. They parked and walked up to my trailer. I thought of running, but there was nowhere to go. At least McMillions wasn't with them.
     Smithy spoke first. "Hi, LJ. Don wants you to have this car for a while..."
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Literature
See You Later
       No other Red Rocker wanted to go through snow to the party, so I went alone. Nancy looked after my daughter. They came outside and waved 'bye-bye.' I felt pretty good, driving an old pickup that was part of the Red Rockers' fleet, and looked forward to seeing a lot of friends.
     At the party, I had a great time, visiting and drinking beer, until I heard a fuss in the kitchen. Daddy Dave came out the kitchen door.
     I asked him what was happening.
     He said, "It's McMillions."
     "Who?"
     "The rich guy. He's looking for you. You oughta go see what's up."  
     "Is he drunk?"
     "He's something."
     "I'm not here." I began to put on my coat, hat and gloves.
     "Why not?"
     "He's a loudmouthed jerk. Tha
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Literature
On First Meeting the Beast
    Carol invited me to meet the rich guy, the one who bought that expensive ranch on the same mountain-face I lived on. She invited me via CB radio, which a few communes were using those days. I said, "Sure, I'll go. Over and out." She drove to Red Rocks to pick me up.
    Along the way to his ranch, we talked over what we'd heard about the rich guy.
    "Did you know Winnie went over there one time to fix their washing machine, hired as a maintenance worker, and he saw that it just wasn't plugged in? Ha! But he said, 'I fixed it. That'll be one hundred dollars,' and the rich guy didn't even blink," I said.
    She said, "I hear he's really cute. He's not even an old guy or anything. Just rich."
     It didn't take long to get there; the ranch was about ten miles (by circuitous dirt roads) from Red Rocks. I hadn't seen the big ranch house before, and I was glad to see it now. The house was built on a large meadow. A
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Literature
The Summer of Love
     It's the fiftieth anniversary of The Summer of Love, 1967, something a lot of people notice around here. I'm in NoCal, not too far from San Francisco, where that particular summer was celebrated the most. I traveled with my sister from Southern California to the Haight-Ashbury district then, to check out the scene. We were still in high school, and the 'hippie thing' was like a clarion call. We dressed for it: embroidered shirts, tight blue jeans with bright fabric sewn over the seams, headbands, long hair. All we lacked were the flowers.
     When we wandered down the street, we didn't talk much. We were studying how to be cool. Back at home, my sister painted LOVE  and flowers on our mirror. We listened to rock and folk music. We read magazines like Mother Nature and The Rolling Stone. 
     The street scene was 'happening' in San Francisco. There were lots of girls dressed like us, an
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Literature
New Life
    
     When I think of her, I think about her 'beginning'--when she was born. A rush of images descends or ascends: my initial calm, Midge's insistence we go to the hospital, sixty-five miles away. His mother, Rose, with us in the car; the way the labor was still light, but undeniable, and how I'd said I wanted to have the baby at home, and here we are in the car, stopping at a gas station in light that was too bright. I asked Rose "why is it all wet back here?" and she put her hand over the front seat to reach me, and I realized my water broke. Birth was imminent. She said "hold my hand and squeeze if you like," and that's what I did. Midge, a strange figure, buying gasoline in the middle of the night.
     I was alone then, in a hospital room in the maternity ward, the Indians' hospital. Where did Rose go? Where is Midge? I start to talk to God about the pain, and a nurse says "calm down, you're not ready yet and the
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Mature content
Anne :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 11 13
Literature
Pear-ly Nonsense
     When the pear bit me, I knew it was an unpearalelled day. I'd done nothing to cause the incompearable behavior from that pear. Nor had I done anything against all the pears in the bowl. This pear grinned at me, then bit my thumb. I quickly put the pear down and studied it. It looked normal in every way, except it had a mouth, and teeth, and, pearish the thought, it smirked. I picked up a pearing knife, ready to fight back. The pear still smirked. I thought maybe I should pear it down to nothing, or tell The National Inquirer and make, maybe, fifty bucks. Fifty bucks for a photo of a pear, pearhaps sitting next to my bitten thumb. I got the smartphone and tried to arrange the pear and the pear injury in an attractive way. But the pear bit me again. No! I picked up the pearing knife again and put on pear-proof gloves and set to work. I'm happy to report that the pear didn't do anything pearsonable, it seemed to have no pearsonality, a
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Literature
A Celestial Visit
"There are very few communes at the end of smooth roads."      -Clark Dimond
 
    She visited in 1978. The Greyhound bus crunched to a snowy stop in Walsenburg. I glimpsed my sister coming down the steps and held up a big coat, boots, socks and a hat. She held a sweater tightly closed against the cold and didn't look up until she reached the curb. Then we smiled at each other. Celeste was in Colorado to visit the commune. I'd told her earlier, by phone, that the weather was very warm; flowers blooming in the Rockies. I owed her warm clothing, and she was happy I brought it to Walsenburg. We hugged and laughed.
     "Sorry you had to wait so long, LJ," she said. "When the pilot said we had to circle because of a blizzard, I was surprised! We circled Denver for two hours! Oh, wow... you look wonderful. This coat is wonderful!"
     "You look great, yourself. C'mon, get
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Mature content
Let's Try This On For Size :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 8 20
Literature
The Quark and the Giant Eland
    The quark thought of it. 'The Heavenly Rescuers of Earth's Animals = Deities', a group commonly known as THREAD, asked him how he'd save western giant elands, now extinct in three African countries. The elands were "critically endangered" in other countries in Africa.
    Mother Creator was the deity that started THREAD and she was still in charge. No one but the Creator could even see the quark. He was merely a fidget on the horizon. But his idea about the elands was intriguing, to say the least. THREAD listened as the quark spoke.
    "A giant eland antelope is scheduled to die shortly, and we can put its spirit side-by-side with a human spirit in a human body. That should teach humans the loss that will occur if nobody understands that these animals have great spirit and must be saved. I believe humans can be receptive to this."
    The quark's voice sounded like it was inside the minds of each deity, from naiads to the Mother, and he spok
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LJ
Artist | Literature
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(1 Reply)
:iconlaurenipsome:
LaurenIpsome Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2017
Thanks for the fave on "Vulnerability"
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(1 Reply)
:iconpepper-the-phoenix:
Pepper-the-phoenix Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2017  Professional Writer
Thank you for the fave!
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(1 Reply)
:iconleyghan:
leyghan Featured By Owner Dec 2, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
For-You by KmyGraphic  
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(1 Reply)
:iconcarmalain7:
Carmalain7 Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2017
i had no idea i wasn't already watching you - how does this happen so often here on dA with longtime friends?

corrected now, LJ, don't hold it against me when i comment on your great stories in the future, mate!
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(1 Reply)
:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2017
Thank you again. :heart:
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:iconhugqueen:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Nov 24, 2017   Writer
:huggle:
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:icongigi50:
gigi50 Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
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:iconblackbowfin:
BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for favin ma story.  I don't attempt prose very often, so it means abunch coming from you. :)
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(1 Reply)
:iconlancelotprice:
LancelotPrice Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2017
Thank, LJ, for favin' 'possibilities', and thanks for the attention and comments in general.
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