A Modern Day Fairytale

Fury and force heaved and shattered all that dared defy their presence. With exhaled breath, they battered the stalwart evergreens. Tree- tops spun. Boughs snapped and fell.

I knew it was a matter of time.

In the distance, a low rumble shot like a freight train through the land. The faint thundering of hooves grew louder. Beside me, a squirrel scurried for shelter. Overhead, a raven screamed a spell.

A veil hung, ominous and sheer, separating earth from the heavens. Deafening silence overtook the land. The faintest sound was the pumping of my heart. Even still, I was not afraid.

Leaves spun, suspended in air. Shades of red through orange, shapes of maple and oak teased my outstretched hand. Pinecones scattered and rolled across the mossy carpet beneath my feet.

From a clearing he appeared, lit beneath the hunter’s moon. I watched ringed fingers grip and tug the reins. The stallion reared, muscles taut, its coat damp and shiny, head twitching side to side.

On the charge’s back sat the royal one. A body clothed in leather, eyes the sparks of flint, a rugged face devoid of emotion.

It was then I glimpsed his truth. I saw one hand lift, watched as his fingers stroked the mane. The steed lowered its head and stood like stone.

The Storm King lifted from the saddle. Dark, dangerous, beautiful and mysterious he kneeled before me and bowed.

Autumn Light

Kissed by autumn’s softened light

I sit at my desk

Writing, wondering

The moment simple, quiet

Surrounded by words and thoughts

Tucked away memories

A gentle sadness, softened by time


As I cast a spell of silence and peace


The wind whispers your name

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Siren’s sing you home

Rock a bye, rock a bye

To a land suspended in time

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Hush your weary mind

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Do not fear the journey

The stars, your compass


Memories flutter like cranes

Lifted higher upon the wind

Your love is true

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Our souls shall meet again

On the other side of time

Rock a bye, rock a bye




Words and Wisdom


Certain words or phrases collect and layer. Inspirational bits of wisdom for those less than confident moments when I forget to fly and instead, trip and  fall. Which is literally what happened. Rushing up the stairs, I caught my foot on the edge of a safety gate and flew. For a brief second in time. Walls shook. The crash was not gentle.

To distract my brain from an aching body, advil and creative pursuits were necessary. That’s how it works for me- find comfort in a project.

For this project I used only what I had “at hand.” The wooden board is from Michael’s.


I painted the board with trusted Annie Sloan Pure White chalk paint.

“Print” a quote and slip it (right side up) over a sheet of graphite paper. Pencil the letters of the quote through the graphite. Once transferred to the painted board, you’re ready to outline the quote’s letters with paint. Use a fine tipped brush and a graphite or black shade of craft paint. When dry, lightly sand.

And yes, I fall. This sign is a gentle reminder to get back up and try again.

Quote Sign IMG_0165


Dear Readers and Followers (Do I have any?)~ It’s been awhile since I have posted any “serious” writing. Yet, I  rewrite and rewrite… In between frustrating moments, times when I can’t find the right words, I step away from the story and focus on my mindless, joyful pursuits – painting and distressing furniture or spending precious time in the company of those I hold dear.

Here is the beginning to a chapter I have just completed. Thank you to my scribblers; you know who you are.



Roy steered his car onto the driveway. He’d hardly shut off the engine when he noticed a hand waving and fluttering beside the rosebush. A smiling face peeked out from behind a cluster of blooms. He recognized the lady as their next- door neighbor. What the hell was her name? He opened the car door and stepped into the summer’s sunlight.

“Just smelling the roses. Mind if I snip a few?”

Roy found her demeanor slightly bold. “Go ahead,” he said. She pulled a pair of scissors from her apron pocket and began to cut the choicest blooms.

“How’s Jacquie?” she asked in between snips.

“Fine. Thanks.” Roy slammed the car door and turned the key in the lock. “She had a girl.” Perhaps he appeared abrupt. He looked directly at the neighbour and smiled. The least he could do was appear gracious. This woman knew their family business.

“Oh I knew it. I called it.” She joined her hands together as if in prayer. From behind blooms benevolent eyes met his gaze. “I’m just so excited, so happy for you all.”

Roy felt himself pulled under by this woman’s tidal wave of joy. What the hell is her name?

“Such a surprise,” she said as she fingered her strand of pearls. The other hand held the freshly cut bouquet. “Your father in law was out back hammering on a fence post when Jacquie hollered at him, ‘Go get Dorothy.’ That’s what he said, like it was an everyday mention.”

Roy thought, Dorothy. That’s her name.

“I heard this knocking on the front door and thought to myself, who’s come to visit?”

She lowered her voice, looked in both directions, and checked to see who was within earshot. Seeing no one else, she spoke. “There was Jock, hammer in hand, standing on my doorstep. Hair uncombed, worn overalls, dentures out.”

Dorothy lowered her voice and continued, “He’d be such a handsome man if he…”

She paused and raised both hands above her head as if under arrest.

“Not my business,” she said and continued, “He casually mentioned Jacqueline had sent for me.” She laughed at this offhand remark.

“I was half-joking when I said, ‘She’s not having the baby is she’?”

Dorothy sniffed a rose. “The look on his face told me more than enough.”

Roy nodded. He had already heard a version of this story. When Jacquie woke from her drug induced birth, she had filled him in along with a “Where the hell were you?”

“Well thanks for helping out this morning,” he said.

Dorothy wasn’t quite finished.

“I flew across the lawn and up the front stairs of your place.” She raised a hand to her forehead, feigned exhaustion. “You know that I’m a retired nurse?”

Before Roy could answer she spoke.

“ I saw Jacqueline leaning into the wall, her fists pressed against the gyprock. I knew this wasn’t routine.” She shook her head.

“ I told Jock: ‘That baby’s coming early; she needs to get to the hospital.’ “And then I prayed.” She pulled a petal from a rose and dropped it to the lawn.

Roy watched the petal fall. He wondered if now was the time to say, “I must leave” and politely exit the conversation.

There was more.

“In the rush to find his car keys, Jock forgot his false teeth, left them on a fencepost out back.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Somehow she made it to the hospital on time. Praise the Lord.”

Roy nodded out of polite respect for this saintly woman.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes. “Honestly. That father in law of yours is a grumpy old man.”

Roy grinned. Grumpy was an understatement. Heaven knew. Jock’s surly disposition had probably preceded his future arrival at the Almighty Gates. Dorothy’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What’s the child’s name?”

“Annie,” he replied.

“Annie. A lovely Celtic name.”

“Thank you, Dorothy. I should be heading inside, check on…” Roy lowered his voice and winked, “the grumpy old man.” He nodded toward the front door.

“Oh my.” One hand patted her up do. “I almost forgot. I baked a tuna casserole. I’ll bring it right over.”

“No rush,” Roy said. He raised the grease stained paper bag. The smell of fried fish hadn’t fazed her. Dorothy had one more good deed to carry out before sunset. Her full skirt swished and her teased hair appeared as if lifted higher. The closer she got to the cooling casserole, the higher her place in heaven.


Simple Spaces

Sunshine, simple moments, coffee. What more could one wish for?

Sunday sharing of simple spaces.

A fresh coat of Benjamin Moore, Winter White in the entrance way. This is my new go to white. Marshmallow with a soft mouse grey undertone. Just envision a snowy day. The random leaning of a word print and the snip of an errant branch from a rambling shrub rose, grace the refreshed space.


The simple life. Sunday, sunshine, and dahlias. Freshly picked and left at the backdoor. A  gesture of friendship.


Simple Sundays.



Spin. Surrounded by a multitude of angel’s wings. Each feathered beat, a gentle two-step. Hugged by the softest touch.  A dance between beauty and mystery, ….

~ "Earth" as photographed from the Hubble Space Station
~ “Earth” as photographed from the Hubble Space Station


The Door-Part 2


About A Door


“Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace.”~ Eugene O’Neil

Salvaged from a shed, the door is a simple piece of architecture. That’s probably the reason it caught my fancy, once upon a time. Years later, I’m still bewitched by the simple lines and the Art Deco glass. Even the cracked ceramic “push” plates lend charm and whimsy to the vintage door.

Neglected, it weathered. Watermarks left discolouration on the grain that sanding couldn’t remove. I painted it. Lightly. Forgive me.

Two thin slips of Annie Sloan chalk paint in Pure White took the door from dull to bright. A light touch from the sanding block, distressed and smoothed the surface.  After a coat of Annie Sloan clear wax, the polishing cloth skated over the grain.

The broken panes of glass were removed using needle nose pliers (Safety Tip- wear gloves). One cracked pane remains. This glass is known as “leadlight” and is associated with architecture that is geometric in detail. Small sections of glass are supported in lead cames. Unfortunately, leadlight glass is expensive to replace and today, there are few people trained in the art of repair.

I stand before the door and close both eyes. My hand pushes upon the ceramic plate. The door leaning against the wall opens to show a wooded path. In the distance is a cottage. Rays of sunlight sparkle between the evergreen boughs. I remember.

Water tumbles beyond the cottage grounds. Hummingbirds whir. Closer still, I see wild roses in bloom and ivy inching up the crumbling brick chimney. And there you are. Seated beside the window, warmed by the stove, you lift a cup of tea to your lips. Our eyes meet.  Do you remember? 

I stand upon the threshold and wait for what seems an eternity. You smile and beckon me to enter. “I’ve been waiting,” you say. “Sit down and talk awhile.”


“The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend.”
― Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception