A Halloween Poem: The Witch of His Dreams!

THE WITCH OF HIS DREAMS

She comes to him at Midnight,

The Witch of his Dreams,

Her eyes a forest green,

Her hair, dark and long,

Her voice, a sweet magic,

Calling out his name,

He could not help but watch her,

Dance among the flowers,

Beneath a waxing moon,

She whirls and cast her spells,

Upon him,

A haunting chant she sings,

And soars into his soul,

On gossamer wings,

She whispers things he longs to hear,

Of secret longings in his ear,

She enchants him with delights,

Though she must fly into the night,

She tells him of her love,

And casts her spells upon him,

To love him evermore,

Though never shall she return,

For she was only ever,

The Witch of His Dreams.

Composed by K. D. Dowdall October 2017

How to Beat the Query Game: The Truth About the Slush Pile

How to Beat the Query Game: The Truth About the Slush Pile  by Paula Munier 

Everywhere I go I hear writers complain about the black hole that is every literary agent’s in-box—the slush pile—that dark and dangerous place where their queries and manuscripts go in, never to be seen again. Kind of like all those socks that go into the dryer, never to be seen again.

I sympathize, up to a point. Here are the slush-pile facts of the matter, and what to do about it:

Some slush pile stats

I receive some 10,000 queries a year. I got more than a thousand of them my very first week as an agent, and I’ve been behind ever since. Way behind. Most of my fellow agents are drowning in a similar tsunami of unsolicited material. Note: This doesn’t count all the material—queries, proposals, sample pages, partial and full manuscripts—that we’ve asked to see.

For this reason, many agents do not read unsolicited queries at all. Nor do most publishers. I know, I know, it’s a Catch 22.

For many of us who do read unsolicited queries, well, that’s why God made interns. I can hear you cursing at me from here, mortified that the precious job of finding talent should be relegated to interns. I repeat: 10,000 unsolicited queries a year. And may I point out that my actual job is not to read unsolicited queries, my job is to sell my clients’ work.

Only 1 in 200 queries is well-written enough, well-conceived enough, and well-targeted enough to prompt me to ask to see more material. Why? Because many writers simply write a one-size-fits-all query, set up a mail merge that includes every agent in Literary Marketplace, and hit send. This means that they haven’t done their homework and they know nothing about me or the kind of projects I represent. Note: The salutation “Dear Paula Munier” is a dead giveaway.

What to do about it

You can beat the odds, simply by making sure that your queries and proposals and manuscripts fall into the solicited, rather than unsolicited, category.

Research the literary agents you pitch, and only pitch those who rep your genre. Go to conferences, and meet the agents. Hang out on twitter, and meet the agents; participate in online and offline pitch contests and meet the agents; go to your genre association functions and meet the agents. Then, when you follow up, you can set your communication apart by referencing your previous contact in the subject line.

As in: “Requested material from Bouchercon” or “Nice meeting you at the Boston Book Festival” or “Twitter pal writes mystery” or “Loved your panel at the MWA meeting” or “WD says you’re looking for Domestic Thrillers.”

By putting this kind of headline in your subject line, you’re far more likely to catch the agent’s attention. I always skim the subject lines of all the emails that come in, and if I see something from someone I’ve met, I’ll look myself. (The rest of the slush pile I often leave to the interns.)

Beat the in-box odds

Whenever you send out an unsolicited query, you are in effect making a cold call. Any good salesperson will tell you that cold calling sucks, and that the best leads are the qualified leads. So use these end-runs around the slush pile to figure out which agents to approach, make initial contact, and beat the query game.

Research and networking pay off in publishing as in any business, and they beat cold calling any day. All evidence to the contrary, agents are people, too, and face-time and familiarity make a difference.

I’ve edited bestselling authors from a myriad of worlds with vastly different viewpoints: Judge Robert Bork, Michael Chertoff, GenXer Doug Coupland, Irish rebel Gerry Adams, conservationist Mark Kurlansky, activist Rita Mae Brown, among others. I never questioned whether any of these authors should be published. I believe all voices should be heard.

In my editorial role, it doesn’t matter if an author makes a point with which I personally disagree. I strive to help that author clearly articulate their vision, making it comprehensible to readers.

I sometimes encounter passages in which I fear a novel’s readers may misconstrue an author’s intent—for example, a hypothetical margin note might read, “I worry some readers could view the portrayal of this character as stereotypical. Want to tweak the characterization so the character becomes more vividly real for readers?”

Ick

Err. Actually, I feel the need to digress, recalling an anecdote illustrating a notable exception to my high-minded “publish everyone” screed just above. Years ago, with a millisecond’s adeptness, an assistant clicked through a telephone caller that had been bothersome to my boss: “Dana, David Duke for you.”

Oy! The former Grand Wizard of the KKK had heard that the imprint where I worked published “controversial books,” as he put it, and Duke had a book to sell. My last name made him assume I was Jewish so I proudly was for that one day. Astonishingly, he quickly told me how before World War II the National Socialists had a plan to settle European Jews in Madagascar. I managed to end the call. Unfortunately, only later did I think of all sorts of wise, witty, pornographic comebacks I might have lobbed back at him.

Anyway—him. He shouldn’t be published.

Hate speech should not be published.

Paula Munier

PAULA MUNIER is a Senior Literary Agent and Content Strategist at Talcott Notch Literary Services. She boasts broad experience creating and marketing exceptional content in all formats across all markets for such media giants as WGBH, Disney, Fidelity, Gannett, Greenspun Media Group, F+W, and Quayside. A dedicated writing teacher, Paula is a popular speaker and lecturer at writing conferences, workshops, and retreats both online and on-site across the USA.

 

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Writing Books for Us and Them: Diversity for Writers, Readers, and Publishers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Economics of Diversity by Dana Isaacson

The big publishers release titles from across the political spectrum. While some of their imprints may have an ideological focus, many cross boundaries. Why are publishers so fair-minded? Well, it’s not exactly that: it makes economic sense for Macmillan to publish Michael Wolff’s Fire and Fury while simultaneously having a conservative imprint All Points Books. Simon and Schuster sells Hillary’s What Happened and Ivana’s Raising Trump.

While there’s an ongoing publishing saga of under-representation among numerous groups, still, when authors like Margaret Atwood, Kevin Kwan, Jesmyn Ward, Ta-Nehisi Coates, David Sedaris, and Caitlyn Jenner sell huge numbers of books, surely some progress is being made.

Shhhh!

Some popular career authors have been criticized for expressing their political opinions on their own Facebook page. One bestselling author who, after expressing her opinions about the president—she “refuses to shut up”—got online responses like, “I didn’t come here to read this. I used to love your books and will never buy them again.” One outraged commentor promoted a phone campaign against this writer to her publisher. Undeterred, this career author politely responds to these comments with “Bye!” It seems sad that online cranks are depriving themselves of her delightful novels, which they formerly loved. Freedom of speech is a constitutional right that I hope we can agree to endorse, especially in forums created for just that.

Disagreement among friends or colleagues is not a deal-breaker.

Robin Williams said, “A friend is someone who listens to your bullshit, tells you that it is bullshit and listens some more.” Are not authors and their readers friends, or at least participants in a meaningful dialogue?

Sensitivity

While non-fiction political potboilers are selling like hotcakes, these days fiction featuring politics or political characters are a tougher sell. Fiction readers want to escape the overwhelming daily barrage of politics. But that doesn’t mean alternative or oppositional voices should not be heard from within works of either non-fiction or fiction.

Often when I ask writers whom their intended readership is, they answer, “Everyone!” If so, it’s wise to include diverse opinions. In their work, a writer may cloak themselves in anonymity, but their own perceptions and viewpoints naturally inform their literary labors. Adept (or perhaps “woke”) fiction writers may question their ingrained viewpoint, sometimes with oppositional characters. If novels are about character growth, conflict and debate are necessities. Career authors of fiction have ample opportunity to provide voices in counterpoint. It could be in their protagonist’s thoughts or the dialogue of others.

Fictional characters may passionately debate hot-button issues that folks are reluctant to voice in public these days.

Authors may also discover their characters are free agents. Hank Phillippi Ryan has spoken of how hers often do just as they please while she breathlessly records their actions and words on her laptop.

Alternative viewpoints

It’s not necessarily that you are writing a novel with a political agenda but instead more inclusively exploring the world at large. Rita Mae Brown says she doesn’t write “gay novels” because that would limit the scope of her fiction to a particular group of people.

Beyond their vast imaginations, careful observation and research, career authors have additional tools at their disposal to portray with accuracy people different from themselves. It’s fairly common for writers to seek and use feedback from a crew of beta readers—often friends and other kindly acquaintances.

Just lately, specialized services of this sort have been monetized. Career authors whose work explore alternative POVs may hire “sensitivity readers” to vet their books—specialized beta readers. For example, an African American author might hire a Native American reader to verify they are correctly describing Pueblo burial traditions. This sensitivity reader might reflect on other aspects of the book, perhaps a character’s emotions, discussing their own reactions in similar circumstances.

To some, this raises the question of whether political correctness or groupthink could inhibit the creative fiction-writing process. I’d counter that it allows another informed and interesting voice to be heard from the cast of characters, which during revisions an author is entirely free to heed or not. It seems a positive development for storytellers to seek inclusiveness. Raising questions is a good thing.

Seditious reading

Readers who carefully avoid political discussions at parties, family gatherings, and other public forums may still curl up with a Maya Angelou novel, or sneak a read of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead to see what all the fuss is about. Dan Brown might do the trick, or perhaps Tom Perrotta. Maybe dipping into a Sophie Kinsella novel or Harlequin romance is what some readers might crave at just that moment. It’s no longer a problem to shield book covers, and expanding literary horizons is greatly encouraged.

Your mission, should you accept it…

Even as certain writers leave little in their plots to interpretation, it remains the reader’s task to sort through ideas and come to their own conclusions. Over a hundred years ago, the novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin altered the dialogue about slavery. In more recent times, Judith Rossner’s Looking for Mr. Goodbar caused a public discussion of misogyny and womens liberation. Bret Easton Ellis went more bonkers in the misogyny direction in American Psycho. Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses launched hysteria, as well as a debate on satire. And E.L James… um, well… Can fiction be just as influential and powerful today?

In divided times, books provide a time-honored forum for meaningful discourse among writers, readers, and thinkers about contemporary issues. In your writing, without restraints or fear of criticism, seek new angles and POVs. Can you address opposing views? Literature can be a provocateur, a liberator, and potentially a unifier.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dana Isaacson worked as Senior Editor at Penguin Random House for thirteen years. There, he edited a wide variety of titles—from bestselling commercial fiction to literary biographies and historical narratives. Prior to that, he was an editor at various publishing houses, including Pocket Books and Regan Books. He has also been an abridger, literary agent, writer, book doctor, and ghostwriter. Now a freelance editor, more information about Dana Isaacson can be found at http://www.danaisaacson.com

A Review: French on English – A Guide to Writing Better Essays


A Review of French on English – A Guide to Writing Better Essays 

 by author Charles F. French

French on English – A Guide to Writing Better Essays,  is an essential tool for writing, that you will keep on your desk, as I do, for easy reference when writing a resume, a college essay or thesis, a commentary on your blog, or a fiction or non-fiction book.  This well-thought-out little book, reveals in simple and easy steps, ways to make almost any written work error free. An added plus is Dr. Charles F. French’s free online companion site for French on EnglishA Guide to Writing Better Essays.

Charles F. French, author of French on English – A Guide to Writing Better Essays, earned his PhD in English Literature from Lehigh University.  He has been teaching writing courses in composition for more than twenty-five years at Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA, and at Muhlenberg College Wescoe School of Continuing Education, Allentown, PA.

Dr. French’s essential reference book on writing skills, French on English—A Guide to Writing Better Essays,  includes examples of often forgotten English grammar rules that we learned in high school. He also included in simple and easy steps, how to create that first draft of a college essay or that novel many of us are hoping to write. Another important feature, is learning to create perfect citations that when improperly written, will cause a great paper to be marked down, one that should have been an A+ paper in college.

Another key feature for me when I am writing a first draft of a novel is that moment that finds me in fear of developing Writer’s Block. Dr. French has brilliantly included, in his spectacular reference book, a section entitled, ‘Brainstorming Ideas’ using the technique of ‘Free Writing’ that breaks through the dreaded Writer’s Block.

I know that you will find, French of English—A Guide to Writing Better Essays, an essential writing tool, and you will want to keep it on your desk for easy access, as I do. It is truly a treasure trove for essential error free writing!  

 

Zodiac Sign for June 21-July 22

Zodiac Facts about the Water Sign Cancer 

Symbol:   Crab

Element:   Water

Polarity:   Negative

Quality:   Cardinal

Ruling Planet:   Moon

Ruling House:   Fourth

Spirit Color:   Violet

Lucky Gem:   Ruby, pearl

Flower:   Orchid and white rose

Top Love Matches:   Taurus & Pisces

Key Traits:   Intuitive, emotional, intelligent, passionate

The Motto:   “I feel, therefore I am.”

The Cancer Personality

Emotional, intuitive, and practically psychic; ruled by the moon and characterized by the crab, Cancer has so much going on in its watery depths. Cancers may seem prickly and standoffish at first meeting, once they make the decision to become friends with someone, that person has a friend for life.

Is love in your stars? Find out with a live psychic reading.

Most Cancers have been called psychic at some point, and with good reason—Cancer can often intuit relationships, ideas, and motivations before anyone has actually spoken. That can make for challenging interactions with this sign—Cancer hates small talk, especially when it contains white lies (like saying, “How nice to see you!” when it’s clear that both parties would rather avoid each other). That’s why social gatherings can be overwhelming for Cancers. They’d much rather spend time in small groups where everyone is on the same page.

In romance, Cancer is a giving and generous lover and expects the same in return. The Crab is above mind games and hates the thrill of the chase—if you love someone, why not say it now? It’s not uncommon for Cancer to fall into committed love after just a few days or weeks, and even though that decision is sudden, it can easily last a lifetime. Cancers tends to be happiest when they’re part of a pair, and the best relationship brings out their greatest traits. But even though a Cancer thrives in a duo, he or she also has an independent streak, and needs plenty of time to do things solo. This sign has an active internal life, and is often are happy living in the realm of imagination. Sometimes Cancers need help from one of the more grounded signs to make their dreams a reality.

Cancer loves creating and needs some type of creative outlet, whether it’s painting, writing, or even just reading. Cancer also loves connecting to a higher power, and may find comfort in religion or spiritual practices. And even though Crabs can be intense, they also have a funny side with a wry sense of humor, and they’re adept at observing and mimicking people around them.

Finally, Cancer is incredibly loyal, sometimes to a fault. Cancers will go to the ends of the earth and even against their own beliefs to help someone they love. Learning how to step up for what they believe in—even if it means turning down or against a friend—is a lifelong lesson for Cancer. As the emotional heart of the Zodiac, this sign teaches everyone else that, while there’s so much in life that we may not be able to see, we should still pay attention to the unseen because it does exist—and we do need it!

Cancers are amazing! Their name says it all:

C for caring

A for ambitious

N for nourishing

C for creative

E for emotionally intelligent

R for resilient

Cancer’s Greatest Gifts

With off-the-charts emotional intelligence, Cancer quickly cuts through the BS and noise to the heart of an issue. Crabs don’t need all the facts and figures to know the right course of action, and their ability to trust intuition without judgment can aid them well. This gift is one that other Zodiac signs can learn from and be inspired by.

Cancer’s Greatest Challenges

While Cancer easily and accurately reads situations when they’re presented, he or she may not share those opinions with others. Speaking up is key, because turning inward with emotions means that those emotions may erupt unexpectedly. Crabs also expect others to know what they’re thinking, which is another source of pent-up frustration. Learning to voice opinions, even if it leads to conflict, is a lifelong lesson for Cancer.

Cancer’s Secret Weapon

Emotions. While many Cancers probably get the message to “be less emotional,” the huge range and depths of Cancers’ emotions may in fact be their secret weapon. When this sign is happy, the world knows it; when they’re unhappy, the world will work to shift their situation. In general, a Cancer’s mercurial moods do a better job than a long speech, and by sharing their emotions with the world, Crabs help other signs tap into theirs as well.

The 5 Top Reasons to Love Being a Cancer

Practically psychic, Cancers can take the emotional temperature of almost every room they’re in, and can intuit whether a situation is good or bad before anyone says a word.

Passionate lovers, Cancers are adept at throwing both mind and body into over-the-top relationships. They absolutely adore letting go and totally connecting to their body in bed.

Ruled by the moon, Cancer is incredibly in tune with the earth’s rhythm, and finds solace and pleasure in nature. More than many signs, Cancers intuitively know that tuning into the natural rhythms of the earth, the moon, and the planets can help when they have a problem.

Incredibly loyal, once a Cancer chooses to become friends with someone, he or she will have that person’s back for life, and won’t let judgment get in the way of an amazing friendship.

Creative and resilient, Cancers can always find pleasure in their own company and their own mind, and they can make anything—even jury duty or a trip to the DMV—a fascinating story.

Get Your 2018 Horoscope! Find out what you need to know about this year. https://www.horoscope.com/zodiac-signs

Anwen and Aodhan, A Celtic Short Story by K. D. Dowdall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(this is a previous post I did from 3 years ago)

The year is 500 A.D. in the wilds of Ireland where Druid kings rule and the Gods and Goddesses speak to the high priests in each tribe throughout the land. It is a time when lives depended on the spirits in Oak trees, Standing Stones, and nature’s creatures to guide with wisdom, each of the lives of every member of each tribe. Through the magic of Runes, each inscribed with ancient symbols, the future is foretold.

Anwen, a Celtic maiden, named for her beauty, as custom demands, is assigned at birth to marry a local Chieftain. She grew up to become a beautiful and desirable maiden. Anwen did not wish to marry the much older Chieftain of her tribe, Cathal, a powerful warrior. This was not because she was childish or selfish. It was in a dream she was told of her true love that existed somewhere in the land of her ancestors.

Her years went by and still she dreamed, although by now, she had married the older chieftain and bore him a son and a daughter. Anwen, now the healer of the tribe with powers given to her by the Goddesses dutifully went about her healing with love and care, yet inside, her deep loneliness cried out to the Goddesses to grant her the power to see her true love that she had dreamed of all of her life.

On a star-filled Beltane evening, with all the neighboring tribes celebrating together the rituals of fertility and renewal, they gathered around the high priest and the great wooden tower of fire to give prayers to the Gods and Goddesses for a bountiful year. Suddenly, as Anwen watched the Beltane fire as though the flames would reach the stars and out shine them, she felt a knowing, a certainty. Her true love was near, and her heart fluttered with joy.

Aodhan, a Chieftain from the farthest reaches of the land, arrived with his fellow tribesmen and women to Celebrate Beltane and unity with all the other tribes. Aodhan, a widower with no children, was father to all, in his small tribe in the far away mountains by the northern sea.

For Aodhan, named for Ireland’s ancient spirits of fire and light had the power of knowing, this, his gift from the Gods. He watched the other tribal revelers be enraptured by the tower of fire, as the flames roared and filled the night sky, Aodhan felt the terrible power of this omen, of things to come. Aodhan, looked at the moon, as a flicker of blood red crossed its path, foretelling brutal future. It bodes ill for the coming times.

Aodhan turned his back to the celebration and saw the most beautiful maiden that made his heart beat wildly. She was smiling at him as though she knew him, had known him and he felt this longing, a life time of longing and knew she was that need in him, his true love.

Aodhan approached her as though he had known her since the heavens formed the sky and starlight was born. He held out his hand and she hers. They held each other knowing without saying a word that they had at last found each other. The Goddesses had answered Anwen’s prayers.

As they held each other and gazed deeply into each other’s soul, memories long forgotten of centuries passed filled their being, knowing they had lived and loved before and that they would again one day, in another life. Their lips touched, but once, and their souls embraced and for that moment, they were one, Anwen the beautiful and Aodhan of fire and light.

The night hurried by as they sat on a hillside, looking at the stars until the morning sun crested the Celtic hills with colors of lavender, pink, and gold that bloomed across the sky. Anwen and Aodhan’s fingertips parted with the dawn light and both slowly turned away from each other, knowing their time would come in whatever future the Gods and Goddesses deemed for them. It was enough, this gift of knowledge, knowing that a future life would bring to them, an eternal embrace until the end of time.

The Boy With The Indigo Eyes – A Short Story by K. D. Dowdall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jenna Sweet was taking a walk back in time. It was now mid-afternoon, sunny and warm. A slight breeze rustled through the trees. A dog barked in the distance. She walked along the side walk, not really aware of where she was headed. Jenna guessed it was by instinct alone, a path she could not forgot. A narrow bridge was ahead of her and Jenna knew it was the bridge that crossed over Stoney Brook.

It was a place where she swam and frolicked as a kid. It was where her mother and her aunt would bring lunch for Jenna and her cousins. Her mom and Aunt would sit around the picnic table talking, laughing, and smoking cigarettes. Both of them have been gone for a very long time now. It was a terrible accident. It changed all of their lives forever.

Jenna stood looking over the bridge, looking down into the rippling water feeling pensive and sad. She listened to the flow of the brook over the rocks and stones as the afternoon sunlight glittered on the water like sparklers on the fourth of July.  She breathed in the sweet smell of the glacier-fed brook and the musky scent of wet moss along its banks. A long kept memory of a young stranger came flooding back into her consciousness from the past.

Jenna was once again walking through the forest and it was cool and shadowy. She remembered how the sunlight coming through the tree tops dappled the forest floor with shades of sun-kissed yellow.  The forest, thought Jenna, was a masterpiece of infinite color, with shimmering emerald leaves, azure sky above, and chestnut brown earth below.  The pungent memory scent of evergreens enveloped Jenna’s senses. She remembered the feel of the waxy substance of the fallen leaves beneath her bare feet as she padded through the dense forest and listened for the sound of water against rock. She would follow the sound to discover the hidden part of the Brook that few had ever ventured to see.

Beneath the forest canopy she heard a slight rustle and then she saw the boy. His long slender legs moved with an effortless grace like a white-tailed deer through the brambles and bushes. He leaped dancer-like over decaying logs and skipped stone by stone over mossy growths, wet with dew.

The tall, dark-haired boy stopped now and again to smell the air as he made his way through the forest. Jenna, Indian-like, followed the boy through the brambles and bushes. She was almost close enough now to see his nostrils flare. In the distance, Jenna heard the flow of water over pebbles and stones as she followed the stranger who followed the sound of the brook.

Ahead of them were large granite boulders and the sound of rippling waters. She watched the boy as he skillfully scampered over the huge glacier boulders and disappeared from view. Jenna followed suit and climbed over the boulders to reach the rocky banks of the brook, but when she looked around, the boy was nowhere to be seen. She sat down for a moment and sighed as she wondered who he was and why she had never seen him before. After all, reasoned Jenna, this was a small farming community with only one middle school.

Jenna dangled her feet above the crystal clear water as she looked at her reflection that was gazing back at her. Her long golden brown braids framed a face that was tanned from the summer sun, hazel eyes now as deeply green as the moss beneath her feet.

She then slipped her slender pubescent body into the cool waters of the brook and was suddenly struck by an incredible sense of freedom within her being that was exhilarating and daunting at the same time. She was growing up and her life and all of life was before her.

Jenna looked down and saw that the wet cloth of her blouse had fallen away, revealing how her body was changing. Suddenly, she was aware of someone looking at her from above. It was the tall dark-haired boy. He was looking down at her. She was sure he had been watching her and then he smiled. Jenna blushed crimson. The boy’s broad shoulders and long muscular legs glistened in the warm sunlight as he stood high on the rocky over-hang above her.

Without acknowledging it, both Jenna and the boy were awakening to their bodies as they grew and changed. Soon, thought Jenna, they would no longer be the carefree children who swam with abandon and ran like deer through the ancient forest. Jenna turned away from the boy, but secretly smiled at this sweet flirtation as the sunlight sparkled like diamonds on the rocks, the trees, and the water’s surface.

The boy, not unlike an Indian brave stalking his prey, suddenly appeared near Jenna, having silently slipped into the water. It was his indigo blue eyes that startled her. The depth of emotion that emanated from his eyes, she didn’t understand. The boy smiled knowingly at Jenna. He could read her thoughts, she knew.

“Listen, he whispered to Jenna as he placed his hand near to his ear. “The water is whispering – do you know what it is saying?”

Jenna leaned into the water to hear the voice of the brook. The brook murmured as it gently flowed over the rocks.  Puzzled, Jenna could only shrug her shoulders.

The boy leaned closer to Jenna—his face just inches from her up-turned nose. His indigo blue eyes, now glittering in the sunlight, looked into Jenna’s eyes, willing her to somehow absorb the mystical knowledge of the brook that he so easily understood.

“You must hear it for yourself” he replied gently, in a voice that was softly mesmerizing. Jenna felt spellbound by his presence and she opened her mouth to speak, but she could only shake her head.

Suddenly, a flock of Canadian Geese flew over their heads and broke the spell. Both of them she remembered, had looked up together to see the geese majestically crossing the azure blue of the endless sky. So close to them, she thought, that she could feel the air move around them. A single feather swirled downward to the water’s edge and the boy gently cupped it in his hands. He then placed the feather in her hand. She brought it to her lips to touch and smell the still warm and fragrant odor of wheatgrass, marsh, and meadow. The white quill was downy soft and still warm. She would always keep it.

When Jenna turned to thank the boy, he had already climbed back up to the rocky ledge and was staring at her.

“Wait”, she cried out. “Who are you?”

“Someday you will know, Jenna.” And then he was gone.

Jenna stood on the bridge over-looking the brook remembering those moments long ago. She was now twenty-four years old and her life had taken many twists and turns since the day that seemed a lifetime ago. It surprised her how constant the memory of the boy stayed with her. How many years, she thought, have I returned to this town, to stand on this bridge, wondering whatever happened to the boy.  Jenna took the single white quill feather from her pocket and brought it to her lips. It still held the scent of wheatgrass, marsh, and meadow.

Jenna suddenly became aware that someone was watching her. She then turned to see a tall, dark-haired young man. He was staring at her. His long slender legs moved with an effortless grace as he walked toward her. She was stunned. There was something about him, she thought. Her mind raced with speculation.

The young man came to stand in front of her. He leaned in, closer to Jenna—his face just inches away from her up-turned nose. His indigo blue eyes, now resplendent in the afternoon sunlight, looked into Jenna’s, willing her to remember. “The water is whispering,” he said with a grin. “Do you know what it is saying?”

Jenna’s eyes opened wide. She nodded to the tall, dark-haired young man with the indigo blue eyes and smiled. “We are like the brook–a constant thing, she told him. “Nothing is ever truly lost, if one seeks to remember.

“Yes,” he said, “that is the secret of the brook.” The young man took her hand in his and together they walked down memories road, into the future.

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