Archive for November, 2011

Turning off comments
November 19, 2011

test…. I am trying to turn off the comments because the spam is overwhelming me. My dashboard will show, you had one visitor and 50 comments from business that are trying to get a plug in….. I want something a bit more real than that… I am a writer. I write no matter where I stand because it is who I am and I am looking for what is real.. There are 4 people following me, and I do not want to offend you but there are 200 people spamming me at a rate of adding 40 spammers a day.. and even if you wrote me I cannot exactly tell because some people try to make themselves sound real but then the copy cats come along and say exactly the same thing.. so what is real and what is not? I cannot tell…. so as soon as I figure out how I am turning off the comments…

Wishing you love and light and a beautiful day

With heart,

Native American Heritage Month
November 10, 2011

Check it out:

http://theithacan.org/17901/

Dance of the Mist
November 1, 2011


I am the mist
inside the cloud
that settles down to touch the Earth

I am dancing
twirling
spinning.

I am alive.

and I am standing
before the big stone
dancing.

I can feel him
within my dance.
and I can feel him
feeling me.

Autumn
November 1, 2011

You know, as I sat each day and watched
Autumn march through the door, I felt like
I was an ant just off to the side of the
door. One at a time, I watched as a foot
would appear before my eyes to enter in
to the place where I lived. The feet be-
longed to children who expressed exuber-
ance beyond description as they danced their
way into the room, and with the arrival of
more children, more exuberance was shown.
Seemed all the feet were dancing before
long, as still more children’s feet came
through the door. I, myself, made my way
to the furthest edge of the room and
tucked myself safely under a ledge.
What a view! I watched as, in a gust of
wind, the children would sweep back
and forth throughout the room,
laughing happily, making merry
little songs with their laughter.
And as I watched, the children
began to grow older, and
older, til their laughter
became the sound
of wind, blowing
through a naked
forest.

The room
was full
and
bulging
when in
walked the
“Sounds of
Silence.”
Autumn’s
children
gracefully
began to bow
out, magically
disappearing
by two’s and three’s,
until I became aware
that, it was as though
they had been transported,
room and all, to the place
where old Autumns go, yet
leaving a shell behind
for the children of the
‘Sounds of Silence’
Winter to enter in at.

1987