Like cockroaches in the glare of a sudden kitchen light, they scattered and skittered into cracks and holes, disappearing into dark places and retreating from the stuttering roar. In their wake they left backpacks and sacks loaded with cans of food, weapons, and jugs of water.
A mother ran out, risking everything to grab a nondescript duffel and race for cover as the staccato sound of an automatic weapon followed her. Splinters of concrete stung her bare legs and feet. Then all was silent, and all waited for the watchers to grow bored and look elsewhere.
Over the next week, I'm taking the time to point out some friends of mine and the interesting things they write, post and do. If you don't see your favorite blogger here, come back tomorrow or the next day and perhaps you will. And if you still don't, then drop me an email and we'll try to rectify that. I'm also taking suggestions for new blogs to follow, so let me know who your favorites are.
Do you ever have those moments as you wake up, when the images of momentary dreams slip from your grasp like wisps of clouds? I'm sure most people have those moments. How often have you thought, "I was dreaming, but I can't remember what," in the moments after you awoke?
There is a place between conscious and unconscious where dreams and reality meet. A place where the unreal seems real, and the real is unsubstantial. Maybe you're not sure what is real and what isn't.
Once upon a lifetime ago, I was a remodeling contractor. I used to meet all kinds of people, go into their homes and tell them how to make them more beautiful or help them fix their problems. I'd size up the cars in the driveway and the exterior of the house, make note of the neighborhood and figure out what kind of job it would be―extravagant, modest or cheap.
Now you might figure that the best neighborhoods were the most desirable to work in, but it simply wasn't true. No one will nickel and dime you as well as someone who can afford a few extra dimes and nickels. One day as I was driving from one potential customer to another, the phone rang and I answered it. "Mrs. Potential Customer" spoke and in less time than it took you to read this sentence, my muse painted a picture in my head.
Willy was a member of our family, my best buddy and will forever remain alive in my heart. He left us for the rainbow bridge last year and while he was alive, he changed forever how I perceive and understand the way some animals think and act. One day when Willy was about nine months old―almost but not quite full grown―Marg made spaghetti for dinner and as on so many other occasions, what ensued next woke up the muse...
"Boy oh boy does that smell good. I can't wait for dinner. She's been cooking that stuff all day and I just can't wait for dinner. Mike ALWAYS shares with me and I can't wait."
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