The stillness of morning
Coffee shops on rainy days
Autumn’s unexpected kiss
Long drives, no timeline
Toss me the keys. Say, “Baby. Take the wheel. Turn the radio, up.”
Farmer’s Markets and flowers
Wind and waves
Without hesitation, I’d choose you.
Four objects. My grandmother’s side table, a tarnished silver jug, always- a bouquet of flowers, my mother’s oil painting. Simple luxuries.
“I live in a world of yesterdays,” she said.
He smiled, “So do I.”
It’s 7 a.m.
I sit in silence
Sip coffee and listen
As the world awakens
~ annie ryder
Smelling of campfires and salt air
Where the beaches are littered
With empty bottles of Casa Sauvignon Blanc
Let us recite from worn books
On a bench of driftwood
Follow children to the sea
Dip our toes into water
Speak wild songs
Say anything or nothing
Blink at the sun
Fall into silence
Lean into doorways
Wander curio shops
They won’t last forever
Come on, let’s go
Leave your necktie on the floor
Miss all of our appointments
Time is passing; the end is near
Fires and floods
Disasters- waiting to swallow us whole
Or are we empty?
Who will miss us?
When all that is left is an image on a photograph, a blurry negative
Before we disappear
Roy fumbled with the coins in his pocket. A single incandescent bulb lit up each table- top. The heat in the room glowed and a smoky haze veiled the guests. He peered deeper into the shrouded depths of the room.
Paper serviettes stacked the bar. Shot glasses lined up, topped to the max, the amber liquid ready to swallow. Next to an ice bucket, a hard-boiled bouncer stood sentry. Suffocating evidence, all compliments of the club.
A stream of light demanded Roy’s attention. The beam shot from the bar, stopped just short of his foot. His gaze followed the beam; back-lit by the mirror that covered the wall behind the bar.
A blonde in a tight black dress curved against a man. He saw the light bounce off the rock that hung at the base of her neck. He heard her familiar laugh and listened as the high, trilling notes fell like glitter over the men in the room.
Her eye was on the man known as Kid. One elbow high, black glove, held his back. Birdie.
What a damn, good night of gentlemen, whiskey shooters, and women wrapped in mink, it was. The boys dressed to the nines and the ladies, bespoke in jewels, were there to shine. The flowery scent of Chanel No.5 still lingered on his shirt. His mother had once denounced it as the “perfume of show girls.” He knew exactly how she’d feel about the scene. “Cards, liquor, debauchery,” she’d chirp.
a tub tray. Therefore, she fashioned one.
You can do it, too.
Measure the width of your bath tub.
Salvage. She found a plank of discarded fencing, aged is better. Cut to desired length. Grab a belt sander (her favourite accessory) and sand off the slivers and lichen.
Apply one or two coats of White chalk paint ( Annie Sloan https://www.anniesloan.com).
Stencil a royal touch (she will find her crown).
Wax. (Annie Sloan Clear Chalkpaint Wax.)
my darling, may you live happily ever after”