April 4, 2019 by D. Wallace Peach

At the Mirror: Foxtrot in the kitchen

I used to share some of my favorite posts from other bloggers. Then my speculative fiction prompt took over my blog! I’m taking advantage of my current travels to share some favorites.

My friend from Li’l Place posted this one almost a year ago and then took a blogging break for about 6 months. I hung onto it, and now that she’s returned, I finally get to share this beautiful piece of writing. Enjoy.

Foxtrot in the Kitchen

by L’il Place

It is the most wonderful thing when a memory catches up with one unexpectedly. Maybe it’s the balmy summer night air or maybe it’s the sight of a box of waffle ice cream cones that sat unopened on my kitchen counter top. But, I found myself pulled into a dance that took place half a lifetime ago.

When I just started working, I had rented a room from a landlady. To keep her privacy, I will call her Mrs. C. There was no a/c in her old but cozy house and it was a particularly humid and hot summer. We would open up the windows and run the fans to their max to try dispel the heat. My favorite place in that house was her kitchen. I would watch her cook many hearty, delicious Italian meals which she shared with me most generously. In fact, she was the one who introduced me to white clam linguine. Before that, I had foolishly thought that all pasta dishes were doused in tomato sauce. She called the white clam linguine the easiest pasta dish to prepare and thanks to her, I have prepared it many times for my own family. Dinners with her and her husband, Mr. C, were always followed by ice cream cones…

(Continue reading: Foxtrot in the kitchen)

September 6, 2018 by D. Wallace Peach

At the Mirror: Incredible Eyes

Basilike Pappa of Silent Hour writes wondrous poetry and prose. She also shares some exquisitely written artwork by others. This flash story of hers struck my fancy. Suspense, romance, mystery, fantasy, and humor all wrapped into one. Enjoy.

Incredible Eyes

by Vassiliki Pappa

It was a night like many others. It involved me and an old book of fairytales I wanted to be alone with. The book wanted to be with me too; its leather-clad spine fit perfectly in my hand. I curled with it on the sofa and soon forgot everything else in the world.

After a couple of hours, I looked up and out of the balcony. I only wanted to give my eyes some rest and to get a glimpse of the night outside. The moon looked back at me and I smiled. It was actually a streetlamp, but I liked to think of it as a full moon.

And then I saw him: a midnight-black rooster, with blood-red comb and wattles, and eyes fixed on me. He was standing still in the middle of my balcony, with something of the dandy in his stance. He obviously has a way with hens, I thought. Indeed, the more I looked at him, the more I knew that, had I been a hen, I would love to have him jump on me and peck on my neck. Our chicks would be midnight-black, with blood-red comb and wattles. But I would like them to have my eyes…

(Continue reading: Incredible Eyes)

February 8, 2018 by D. Wallace Peach

At The Mirror: Culloden

pixabay image

A powerful piece of writing I’m honored to share. This was Iain Kelly’s response to a Sue Vincent prompt: Crow.

Photo Copyright: Sue Vincent

Per the author: “The Battle of Culloden in 1745 was the last pitched battle to be fought on British soil. The defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite Army by government forces was followed by the Highland Clearances and a brutal clamping down on Scots culture and way of life, an attempt to ensure no uprising could happen again.”

Culloden

By Iain Kelly

Through hard-falling rain a bird, black from beak to tail-tip, swoops and glides, buffeted by wind that swirls around the surrounding mountains.

From the elevated height, black beady eyes see across the flat, windswept moor of the valley. In amongst the heather and wild grass the eyes see something unfamiliar.

Wings angled to ride on the air current, the bird drops through the misty clouds to join the other black-feathered dots already gathered.

Similar black, beady eyes, belonging to the Duke of Cumberland survey the battlefield. Over in less than an hour. A fine mornings work. The rain batters against his cape, large drops drip from his sodden hat.

Over the noise of pattering rain the cries of the wounded hauntingly fleet across the moor. Gratifyingly, they are the cries of the Jacobite rebels, only a handful of his army have fallen.

He shouts an order to those that can hear him: ‘This is not the time to gloat and crow in victory. This is only the beginning. You have your orders.’

Cumberland turns his mount and leaves the field, banners raised high in glory. The Kingdom and the House of Hanover saved, the Stuarts and the Catholics crushed. Faintly, he thinks he can hear the cry amongst the charge: ‘No quarter to be given.’

Cumberland allows himself a smile of satisfaction. This is the beginning of the end…

(Continue Reading: CULLODEN)

October 29, 2017 by D. Wallace Peach

At the Mirror: Route 91, A Festival

pixabay image

I’m switching around the blog schedule for NaNoWriMo, which I’m unofficially participating in this month. My goal is 80,000 words. Uh huh. I’m a nut. My muses are out drinking ale at the fire pit while they scheme about how to make this happen.

Anyway, my “Sunday Blog Share” of the past will still be my every third post, but it will be on random days. So I’m renaming it “At the Mirror.” The Mirror is a reflective lake in one of my books, and when someone looks into its waters, they see the true beauty of their souls. The blog posts that I share are beautiful to me. They evoke emotion… sometimes joy, sometimes tears, longing, memories, or plain old awe.

Today’s post is by Diana from A Holistic Journey. The format didn’t allow me to post the beginning here. So… all you get is the link… ❤

Source: Route 91, A Festival

October 22, 2017 by D. Wallace Peach

Sunday Blog Share: The Fire Inside

Mike Allegra did it again. He had me laughing until my sides hurt. Happy Sunday.

The Fire Inside

by Mike Allegra

Transitioning back to my house husband role was easier than expected.

The new high-tech washing machine that Ellen bought turned out to be cooperative and friendly. It even sings a little song at the end of each load, which is far more pleasant than the roaring, meaty farts offered up by the dryer.

I cleaned out the refrigerator — throwing away the squishy things that were supposed to be crisp and the crispy things that were supposed to be squishy.

And I reworked Ellen’s filing system; that is to say I “filed” and created a “system.”

After removing the old and unneeded documents from these files, I found myself with a stack of paper about four inches high.

My son, Alex, stopped me on my way to the shredder. “Don’t shred them,” he scolded. “Burn ’em!” This idea seemed slightly psychotic, but…

(Keep Reading: The Fire Inside)

September 24, 2017 by D. Wallace Peach

Sunday Blog Share – What If: Not a Poem

A sublime piece of writing for the passing of summer into autumn. Comments are closed here; please click over to indulge in the beauty of this short “not a poem.”

What If: Not a Poem

by Jan Malique from Strange Goings on in the Shed

What if I could bring back all that you’d forgotten? Will you smile then, run in fields of glory, be the child bathed in laughter?

Piece by piece assemble the memories of past joys and sorrows. Unveil faded images, lost and now found. Bring back Summers of familial bliss.

Offer a brief glimpse of smiles thrown beguilingly, of tears shed in anger, of sighs whispered in solitude under star laden skies…

Continue Reading: What If: Not a Poem

September 3, 2017 by D. Wallace Peach

Sunday Blog Share: Allie Potts – An interview with my muse

I’m enjoying meeting all the muses that my post kicked off.
Allie Potts goes on a clever, caffeine-induced search of her muse.
Comments are closed here on Sundays. Enjoy Allie’s post.

***

The air was heavy with procrastination as I heard the door open behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to recognize her perfume, a mix of earth and chocolate spice. It could only be Moka. Moka Chino. She spelled her name with a k rather than a ch. She thought it gave her an extra shot of originality. I’d never had the heart to tell her I thought it made me question whether her head was on right.

She sashayed into my office as if it hadn’t been years since we last met. Though I tried to keep my expression neutral, I couldn’t help drinking in her appearance. “What brings you to the old neighborhood?” I asked as she removed a pair nutmeg shaded glasses, revealing mascara stained eyes underneath.

“It’s Latte. She’s missing.”

Latte was Moka’s cousin. Tall and skinny, though just as smooth. I’d met her at one of Moka’s parties and we’d spent the next hours in easy conversation. Latte’s side of the family wasn’t nearly as rich and she’d offered to help with the occasional job or two for whatever change I could spare, which was never much.

It was worth the expense. Her contributions might cause me the occasional heartburn, but…

Continue Reading: An interview with my muse – a fiction challenge

August 27, 2017 by D. Wallace Peach

Sunday Blog Share: Shaded Memories of Moonlight

A beautiful wistful poem I saved for months to share today.
Comments are closed, please click through and Enjoy.

Shaded Memories of Moonlight

by J.C Watkins Peace

Do you remember the room? I do,
Sitcoms would titter on the old television,
the three of us on my old springy bed,
only one of us was paying attention,
I had thoughts of you instead.
In these shaded memories of moonlight,
your skin was warm and soft,
paying no mind to the comedy,
as life’s tragic drama unfolded before me.
Our hands would touch and
separate; almost like they were dancing,
entities other than our own,
flirting for us, deliberately glancing.

Do you remember the house? I do,
big and old and cheap, but real.
An unused living room as we’d live,
we’d live our lives in bedrooms,
only leaving to corner one another,
in that kitchen with the broken window.
In these shaded memories of moonlight,
the dance would continue, to and fro,…

Source: Shaded Memories of Moonlight at Mistakes & Adventures