A Farewell To A Friend~

We've seen and done so much,  you and I, haven't we?
Been through highs and lows together,
Sailed & flown through days & months & years, together.
We've laughed and cried, loved and fought,
You and I have watched so much time pass;
More than can be measured.

There is a bend in our road that you cannot see,
A change in the cadence of our walk.
There is a road that I must take alone, dear one,
And though I am letting go of your hand, know that I will
Always hold you in my heart.
I know there will be a day when this road brings me back
To you
I will hold your hand to my cheek & embrace you so tightly.

But until then,
I have promises to keep; promises made to people
I love
And I must keep my word.
So farewell, for a time, sweet friend.
May wings of Angels encircle you,
And keep you with my love,
Until I can return.

Thanks to Radeka Photography for the image

Favorites & Remembrances

Viaggiatore and I are wandering through our time together here on our blog. Reminiscing about old blog friends, laughing at funny moments, looking back at all of the time we've spent and places we've gone.

Instead of posting a New Years meme, we've decided to share some favorite stories and experiences with you. There is no rhyme or reason; only smiles and laughter as we wander back through the years we've shared together.

Read what you like, and comment if you want to; we'll be checking in.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore

All of the Viaggiatore stories: See links at right, they are chronologically ordered! Very important if you want to know who he is, where he came from and how he ended up here!

Where Do You Live - A look at where we've been

Killing Me Ever So Softly - A dark journey into the heart and soul

Dream Maker - An underdog realizes his dreams... heartwarming!

Armed and Dangerous - In which I embark on an unexpected and riotous quest

Armed & Dangerous II - The sequel... because I never do anything halfway...

Philosophy, Justification & Irony - The truly humorous story of a tea bags journey to my mug, and my justification of it

The 3 Men Who Walked On Water - Laugh out loud photo of the day...

Schmoozing With His Majesty, King Elvis - 30 Years Later - Funny story about little people and the King

The Earl of Gray & the Chocolate Kiss - A sensuously tasty poem

Reflection - A very sobering (brief) video that will astound you and possibly bring a tear to your heart.

Easter Chicken - Scarlett's shenanigans in the kitchen for a holiday dinner...

My Love - A letter to a soul mate

Wandering With Bay - I take a little girl on a big adventure!

Settling Matters of the Heart - The great debate on whether one should settle in love or not!

There's an Explanation For Almost Everything - Government hilariously defined

The Picture Worth a Thousand Words - Sarah Palin wearing the other teams colors...

Of Murderers & Journalism - I ferociously lambaste U.S. Rep Jared Polis for his cold and callous remarks regarding the death of newspapers

There & Back Again - Photo post of my journey with Mr. Black to Versailles and Paris

At Home in Scotland - Photo post of the trip Mr. Black and I enjoyed in Scotland

Twilight Reminiscing - I recount the stories of our journey to Paris

Walking Through Echoes of the Past - I recount the stories of our visit in Scotland

Traveling Tails ~ Boston! - Mr. Black and I visit Boston



We hope you've enjoyed wandering with us, on our shore and on all the distant shores we love to visit. Have a very Happy New Year! We'll see you in January.


Scarlett & Viaggiatore

Walking Through Echoes Of The Past

There will be quite a bit of metaphorical reference in this one. Suspend your disbelief for a bit and walk with me on this incredible journey.

~SCOTLAND~

The purpose of the trip was to trace my family's history and heritage back as far as I could, to photograph and document the lands and places that they existed in, to reach back through time and history and make a connection that all my living family and our children's children could keep; so that our past will never be lost again. It's important to know where we came from.

Paris was en route, and it was so lovely... it was a beautiful dream. Scotland was an entirely different world.

We arrived late in the night and traveled by bus from the airport into the dark city. We might have been in a time traveling vehicle, as it seemed to be an anachronism; the only thing from this century that we could see in the world around us. Old stone walls and buildings, dim street lamps, narrow lanes and round-abouts, a winding twisting ride that eventually brought us to the center of the city, at the feet of an enormous fortress that loomed over us and glowed like a beacon in the blackness; Edinburgh Castle.

Morning's light found us in our bed and breakfast; a large old stone house, kept by a very kind couple. The city morphed into a slightly more modern machine during the day. We were served (every morning for the duration of the trip), a "Full Scottish Breakfast" which consists of sausage, an enormous slab of ham, eggs, cut tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, red beans, cereal/porridge, fruit, toast (more toast?), and haggis & black pudding (if we were so inclined, and we were not), with coffee, juice, and tea. It is delicious, it is monstrously huge, it is serious protein, and a heart attack on a plate. We loved it!

We got our car after breakfast... the steering wheel is on the right side (passenger side in the states) of the car. It was a standard transmission; 5 speed, so fifth gear and reverse are next to the drivers left knee. I did all the driving. It was a bit terrifying unnerving, getting back to the B&B from the rental car place, where I needed to gather my wits before driving off all over the country. Mr. Black was an excellent co-pilot. I don't know how I'd have made it around without his patience and assistance. I did get the hang of it, after the second day, and it became fun then!
Our goals in focus, maps and plans at the ready, we took off to delve back hundreds and hundreds of years into the history of my forebears.

Our first priority was Scone Palace, where a special tribute to the Royal Stewart family was being performed. I must take a moment to thank Miss Pamela Lawrence from Scone Palace, without whose invaluable aide, we'd have had a much more difficult time. She has earned a sainthood from us for her kindness and extremely helpful advice.
Scone Palace is where the Kings of Scotland were crowned, at a little stone seat (the Stone of Destiny) in front of a tiny chapel. The chapel and the Stone of Destiny (or rather, a replica of it), are still there.

I sat on the stone, in the place where four of my great-grandfathers were crowned Kings of Scotland, and it was a humbling, reverent experience. I gazed out over the castle grounds and at the walls of the castle; where they looked, where they walked, where they stayed briefly. My feet rested on the ground that they stood on. Time began to fade then, and with every breath the shadows clouding the centuries between us evaporated like the Scottish fog burning off in the light of day.

The air in Scotland is cool and damp, and strange as it may seem, it is invigorating. We were both filled with an excited energy that ignited a love in us for this country and its people that will never fade. The fog and rain come and go as do the tides that wash up on the shores there. The sun plays hide and seek, and just when you think it's gone, it dances out gloriously scintillating and colors the air with rainbows.

I felt the thickness of time around me; like it hadn't gone anywhere at all, it just kept happening and filling space around the land, without end. Every place that we went and every step that I took felt like walking through ages where there was no barrier to separate them from each other and from me as I made my way in and through those moments.

We visited some new friends in Peebles and had a wonderful, albeit much too brief, time with them. They showed us Melrose Abbey, where the heart of King Robert the Bruce is buried. He told his men when he died, to carry his heart to the holy land as they joined the crusades and to bury it there in the holy temple, but the quest failed and his men brought his heart back to Scotland and there it lies now, in the quiet green ground under the towering ruins of Melrose Abbey. I knelt at the monument over my great-grandfathers heart, and 18 generations & 680 years fell away like leaves in the fall. My hands on the monument, I thought of the heart that lay beneath it, and of the man to whom it belongs. My heart pushes his blood through my body. I exist because he did. I breathed in the air around me as well as the endless moment, suspended as it was, in time.

Melrose Abbey is amazing, it is beautiful, and it is enormous; I tried to imagine what it looked like before it was destroyed by humanity and the ages. It is sacred to me for the simple reason that it holds such a precious part of my ancestry.

From Melrose, we went on to Flodden Field. Our friends told us, Scarlett, it is but a field... in the middle of nowhere... really, it's just a field. I know, I said with a smile, but I have to go, it's part of the journey. Another of my great-grandfathers died in battle there; Duncan Campbell. I must go. And we went.

Flodden Field is in England. Crossing the Scottish and English border is much like crossing a state line in the US. There's a small sign, and by small I mean maybe 3 feet by 4 feet. 'You are now entering England'. Flodden Field, site of the Battle of Flodden, is tucked away down an old winding country dirt road, one that twists and bends past farms and meadows and the odd fence. There is a tiny old country church at the base of the hill. At the top of the hill is a concrete Celtic cross, probably about 6 feet tall, maybe a little more. We parked and walked through a narrow wooden gate to the stairs that lead up to the top of the hill.

It is a field, and then it is absolutely not at all. Standing there in the clean, quiet country breeze, we could see all the world around us, and the dirt and grass at our feet. We could feel the peace that is there now, blanketing the sounds of battle that seem to echo just out of reach... the shouts of men, the clang of armour and weapons, the cries of desperation... how much blood spilled into that soil? The blood of 12,000 men; one of them another reason that I am alive and was standing where he had fallen. I wondered what he might have thought on his last day, marching across that land, wondering if he would live or die. How powerful that must have been... every sense heightened, every emotion racing through every fiber of his being at it's utmost capacity... and then it was lost, all of it, and he was gone.
The loss of life there and the ensuing peace is tangible. It can be felt through the body, mind, and soul, it can be sensed in the air and on the wind. I will never, ever forget what it felt like to be there.

We visited Stirling Castle, which is now a tourist stop overlooking Bannockburn Field, where a larger war was fought by my great-grandfather King Robert the Bruce, and where, just on the other side of the field, the Wallace monument looks on the castle. Stirling is a fortress, just like Edinburgh Castle. High on a hill, almost impenetrable... they really knew how to build them back then. It is the jewel of the city, rising above it all. It is very well kept up, and has seen changes over the centuries since my grandfathers walked through its halls.

Edinburgh Castle is much the same as Stirling; so very old a structure but one that is updated and hosts throngs of sightseers every day. There are hints and remnants of my family's history here and there; emblems of their coats of arms color the glass in the windows, and paintings of those arms adorn some of the walls. It is incredible to walk past the heavily guarded display of the crown, the kings sword, and the (possibly) real Stone of Destiny that are safely secured under glass and watchful eye. They are stunning, breathtaking in their strength, size, and grandeur. These are pretty artifacts in my mind, not a soul binding connection to the men that used them, and that connection is what I was after on this sojourn.

I found the most significant connection at Dunfermline Abbey. King Robert the Bruce's heart is buried in Melrose, but his body is buried at Dunfermline. It is also the place where my favorite great-grandfather, King James I of Scotland was born. Again I knelt, this time at the foot of my great-grandfather's tomb. It is a beautiful tomb made of red marble background, inlaid with his image in shining gold. There is a little plaque there, requesting... 'please do not touch'. I did so much more than touch. Just as it was at Melrose, every shroud between us vanished, and there we were, the two of us; he and I... seeming to regard each other in this space without walls, without boundaries or confines or laws of time and place. It was surreal, it was breathtaking and inexplicable.

Mr. Black and I visited many places in Edinburgh, including The Elephant House where JK Rowling began Harry Potter's life, and the Balmoral Hotel where she ended the tale. We had a fantastic time dancing at the coolest club I've ever been in, Frankenstein's, next door to The Elephant House. We were dumbfounded that we could not seem to find a Scottish restaurant for dinner anywhere in the country! They are big on foreign food; we had Chinese two nights, Mexican one night, Indian one night, and a delicious version of chic American one night. We filled up on the full Scottish breakfast every morning though, so it kind of worked out.

We spent one night at our new favorite bed & breakfast, just up the coast in Stonehaven, because I wanted to sleep by the sea. We were about 10 feet from the sand and waves, I couldn't have been closer unless I'd been in a boat. This was a perfect place to stay, our hosts there were absolutely delightful and so sweet that we didn't want to leave at all. We loved the little seaside town, with its cobblestone streets and old stone buildings. The ocean mist on our skin and the salt of the sea on our lips was delicious. We stood on our patio in the dark of night with a blanket wrapped around us for warmth against the storm that was tossing the sea into a tempest, and watched the swelling waves crash into the rocks and shore for a long while. I spoke Edgar Allen Poe's poem, Annabel Lee, and I'd have stayed the entire night out in the misty fog, hypnotized by the pulsating tide, if Mr. Black hadn't gently urged me back into our room.

When our plane lifted off from Edinburgh airport and flew over the lands end where the Atlantic Ocean washes its shores, I wept. Mr. Black and I both wanted nothing more than to stay there in that lovely country filled with the very kindest souls, daffodils as far as the eye could see, cool misty air, old castles and ages upon ages of history... but reality insisted that we come back here, where we can dream about that other world when we sleep, and find ourselves back in the arms and heart of that country again.

Twilight Reminiscing

The photos from the adventure have been posted.

The stories remain to be told, like secret jewels tucked away in safe pockets that I pull out a few at a time, to hold in my hand, to touch softly and turn over and over, re-examining every aspect of them... and I will share some of these lovely gems with you.

~PARIS~

Mr. Black and I saw and did just about everything in Paris. Almost everything I didn't do the last time I saw Paris... I am still wandering through these memories every single day, so lovely are they, and so absolutely treasured.

We walked through Montmartre and climbed the steps to Sacre Coeur. When we reached the top, we watched the sun setting and I made that photo of the Eiffel Tower in the pink light of days end. We wandered through the basilica, looking at every detail and immersing ourselves in its beauty. We ate in a little bistro just a block away from the basilica, and the musicians there indulged my request for "La Vie En Rose"... in French, which I've never heard before. When we left, we stopped to watch the Eiffel Tower shimmering and sparkling like a diamond at the top of the hour.

A violin player (you'll see him in the Paris post) was very sweet and played "Con Te Partiro (time to say goodbye)" by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman for us, when I stopped to photograph him. We rode carousels, made new friends, walked in awe and reverence through St. Chappelle (which is my favorite chapel in the world), and through the halls of Notre Dame. We had lunch at a little outdoor cafe in the Latin Quarter and suffered a truly snobby Parisian waiter, we walked along the Seine in the early afternoon light, past the pyramid at the Louvre, through the Tuileries, and barely escaped the traffic around the Concorde with our meager lives. We made wishes in countless fountains and admired the grandeur and loveliness of Paris. Two hours in line at the Eiffel Tower was no sacrifice at all for the moment that we stepped out onto the top level and watched the sun set over Paris from that breathtaking vantage point.

Mr. Black and I wandered through the Musee D'Orsay and marveled at the works there, and then I introduced him to Mona Lisa and a few corners of the Louvre. We wandered the city of lights in the evenings, up and down the Champs Elysees and throughout so many neighborhoods.

We left footprints in the gardens and hall of the Palace of Versailles, looking, laughing, enraptured, taking it all with us as we walked away. There was a very special dinner cruise down the Seine in a glass boat, and we saw the city all over again in a whole new light, and it was completely different and utterly amazing. We stood in wonderment and gazed at the glory of the Palais Garnier; the old opera house, when it is flooded with light at night, which is nothing short of stunning... and then we walked all the way around it, to see it from every angle.

Paris captured our hearts and held us spellbound with its beauty, mystery and treasures. We didn't want to leave at all, but on the way out of the city, she gave us one last sweet gift. I'd been on a quest to hear someone play "La Vie En Rose" on an accordion (both trips, hadn't happened), when lo and behold, our train was almost at the airport when I looked at Mr. Black and said, "That was almost perfect. Just one thing... where's my musician to walk through the train car and play this song for me on his accordion?" ...and not a minute later, a man walked into our train car with an accordion and played my song for me.

"...hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose... when you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose... when you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom... and when you speak, angels sing from above, every day words seem to turn into love songs... give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be la vie en rose..."

We'll walk in centuries old footsteps through Scotland soon...

Of Murderers and Journalism

Obituary:
On Friday, February 27th, 2009, the Rocky Mountain News closed down. 55 days shy of 150 years of publishing, connecting citizens throughout Colorado and the world. 200 jobs were lost; all of those people listed on the last page of the final printing of this legacy in journalism. A very black Friday indeed. I was lucky enough to have a brief bit of my own personal work published in that paper before its demise.


A Prominent and Proud Murderer Boasts:

U.S. Rep. Jared Polis.


"I have to say, that when we say, 'Who killed the Rocky Mountain News,' we're all part of it, for better or worse, and I argue it's mostly for the better," Polis said, "The media is dead, and long live the new media, which is all of us,". "Since we killed the newspapers" and "own the media," bloggers and citizen journalists have a responsibility.
"We can't just kill it and walk away," he said. "It's important for all of us to reach out to some of those . . . on the other side and present the progressive point of view," he said.
~reported by the Denver Post.

With an ironic twist and a back handed blow, Jared Polis denigrates the very form of media that defended his stance on education for minorities as recently as July 24th, 2008. I wonder what former "opinion columns and blogs" editor & author of that passionate defense for Polis, Vincent Carroll, thinks of Mr. Polis' limited perspective, now.


It's true that convergent journalism and media is the wave of the future in that field. I will be part of that, but I will not sell my soul to it as the solitary means of publishing news and maintaining communications between citizens of the world.

There is still a place for the format of media that is a foundation of the correspondence world we have now; newspapers. To state that it is "mostly for the better" that this printed legacy has met its dissolution is to wave away with indifference more than 150 years of hard work, sacrifice, truth, connection between people and the chronicles of humanity that lived every one of those days. How dare you callously disregard that rich endowment.
Your words are filled with shallow indifference, and are tossed out with irresponsible, mindless disdain.

You've qualified yourself (and the entire populace of humanity) as 'citizen journalists of the world'... and that is a slap in the face of the professionals who hold together the entire media industry. How dare you disrespect and dishonor every single one of those individuals.

Perhaps you think you have the education, tact, talent and time to produce the quality work that currently educates and informs the rest of the world. Judging by your ever-so-eloquent dismissal of the Rocky Mountain News, I'd say absolutely not. Your over-inflated confidence in the rest of the populace to produce responsible, unbiased, intelligible, accurate, timely, current news is not only entirely without base, it is unquestionably impossible. Best of luck with that whole notion.


Mr. Polis:

Do NOT make the careless libertine assumption that all bloggers and online media are responsible for the cessation of the Rocky Mountain News and all of its ilk. You have no right whatsoever to include anyone but yourself in your ridiculously stated position. I am a blogger. I am an online media journalist. I am an 'in print' media journalist. I am a citizen. I fit nicely into each and every single category that your verbal incompetence has encompassed.

I demand of you that you never assume that you may include me in your self-deprecating drivel. I give you neither license nor permission to name me or my work when you make thoughtless unsubstantiated statements about a subject that you very obviously know too little about. Next time you open your mouth, try to refer to only those people who actually stand with you in your transparent and flimsy ideals.

**Update**

Before I had the chance to publish this diatribe for you, Mr. Polis, I see that you've already come to the press that you so shamelessly flouted, to offer regrets for your mindless remarks and ideas... you must have a very good public relations agent. That's good, Mr. Polis, it's painfully obvious that you desperately need one.

Passport Stamps

For the Cupcake Man, who can’t remember what life was like before the wire…

“It was simple, before the wire.

Stretched out like so many long summer days on golden sand and aquamarine waves that time waltzes with in a slow and methodical moon drawn cadence.” ~ Wanderlust Scarlett

Testament to Love

I don't remember how old I was the first time I saw the image of the Taj Mahal. I could not tell you when I learned about its history and purpose. A mausoleum built by a grieving man for the love of his life who left this world.
It touched my heart deeply, from the first moment I saw it. It spoke a language of real and true love to that ever hopeful romantic in my heart. An object of devotion in memorial to a love that could not be measured or eclipsed in beauty, not even by this incredible monument to it.

This grand effort to express the strongest emotion of any human heart is considered sacred, is magnificent, and is still visited by multitudes of people every day. It is a wonder of our world. It is a wonder of humanity. It is a wonder of the heart.

Tokens of love come in countless forms... flowers, rings, art, music, structures, and on and on... and on, again. But all of them could never really capture that precious gift that cannot be bought or stolen or forced, that gift that can only be gotten by one when it is given sincerely and freely by another; the gift of love. We offer it without cost, when it is truly given.

Love transcends everything... time, people, places, even human form (think of love given from and within the animal kingdom).

There is no force more powerful or more tender in existence. It is the essence of life. It is boundless... and it is essential.
Give it at every chance, there is no greater gift that can be given.

Thanks to Angelfire for the breathtaking photograph.

Viaggiatore's Milestone, and a Farewell to Brothers in Arms

One year ago today, Seamus of Shameless Words and The Shameless Lions Writing Circle gifted me with one of my favorite delights, when he allowed me to adopt Viaggiatore, and join the writing circle.

Since that day, many things have happened. Viaggiatore and I have gone everywhere together and made many new friends. He has been my muse, my inspiration, and my constant joy every time I come here. His stories are exciting, adventurous, and there seems to be no end to them. I am still learning so much about him.







How bittersweet and ironic that almost at the milestone of our first year together, Seamus has retired from blogging. He has made a decision to move on to other things.

It is the opportune time to thank him, not only for the fantastic words he writes,
photographs that he makes, and music that he creates and plays so beautifully, but also for bringing so many wonderful people together in such an imaginative way. Such good friends have been found, for the sake of his brilliant mind and hard work. I sincerely hope that The Shameless Lions Writing Circle stays together as long as possible.



Thank you, Seamus, we wish you the very best. Perhaps someday in the future, if we are lucky, we will hear from you again. You could never know how much good you have done in such enormous ways, by the small efforts that you have made. May you be blessed a thousand times over for them.

Viaggiatore and I have thoroughly enjoyed this year, and we look forward with anticipation to all the years to come, together.


Best to you all,

Au Revoir Seamus

Scarlett & Viaggiatore

The Road Ahead

We Are One!

From the Shores of Introspect and Retrospect is a year old! We made it! And, by sheer luck and a sprinkling of irony... this is our 100th post!

~A look back...

It's been a good year. I started the journey on my own and a short time after I began, I adopted Viaggiatore from Seamus, we joined the Shameless Lions Writing Circle; and this fantastic lion has been right by my side every step of the way, since. We've made many wonderful friends with whom we have shared laughs & ideas, supported when there was sorrow, gained and given insight and explored life together.

It has been absolutely wonderful, and worth every moment.

~A look ahead...

It is our intention to post a LOT more often, and to visit with our treasured friends at every opportunity. I think sometimes that I would like to have a photojournalism blog, and post stories about the world around us, but this blog is a place of the mind, heart and soul, and it's flavor cannot change. It's grown from a small idea into what it is today, and that will continue as time passes.

I hope that you find common threads here. I hope that you find words worth your while. I hope that the ideas and stories that you find here inspire & encourage you. I hope you find friends here.

And I hope that when you leave, you have a little more Introspect and Retrospect in your pocket, to enjoy later on, down the road ahead.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore

Write about that!

What is the last thing you wrote?
~A comment on another blog

Was it any good?
~Of course it was, I always leave good comments

What’s the first thing you wrote and you still have?
~Really? Kindergarten work, I think. I still have the first journal that I ever wrote in, from the summer that I lost my grandmother, and when I reread it, it's like stepping back in time.

Write poetry? Yes!

Angst? Only when I was a teenager.

Favorite genre of writing? I love thinking on paper the best... start writing a thought and keep writing whatever crosses my mind, non~stop for as long as I can go at it. Very good exercise.

Most fun character you’ve ever created? Viaggiatore - paws down.

Most annoying character? Eh... I haven't created an annoying one, but my best villain is Vincent William Kilman. Nobody knows who he is yet, but he is wicked evil; couldn't believe someone like him came out of my head.

Best plot? The story that Vincent is in... it's a mystery/suspense/adventure/romance/comedy blend. Think "Jewel of the Nile" and "Romancing the Stone" ...gone techno and current, in Greece, Egypt and Vienna... intertwine past and present internal stories, throw in a missing princess, a 'chance' couple to fight the good fight and solve the mystery, a goofy sidekick for the hero, a supportive friend for the heroine, a wicked evil villain, memories of a tragic love story, a dangerous race against the clock and the bad guys and you just about got it.
...Good plot? Yes!

Write fan fiction? I have no idea.

Type or write? Both methods with both hands (although my left handed writing isn't quite as fast as my right handed writing). Which one? Depends on topic, moment and mood. Journals are written, thoughts are written, communication is mostly typed, but I do stop to write it by hand sometimes. It's nice to get something hand written in the mail.

Favorite thing you’ve written: Whatever touches other people's hearts, makes them smile and means something to them... or compels them to do right, whenever I can have an effect.

Do you show people your work? uh... yes... I blog. I also show good work to teachers, fellow students, friends and family. It's very important to look at it from a different perspective, whether I agree with that particular view or not. It opens my mind up more.

Did you ever write a novel? Two, actually.

Favorite setting for your characters? In my hands; not out of them.

How many writing projects are you working on? Ad Infinitus Continuum

Do you want to write for a living? Yes.

Why? To touch the hearts of humanity, to make a difference, to enlighten, to enjoy, to learn & grow, to laugh, to cry, to empower, to compel... to bring passion and peace, and to comfort.

Ever written anything in script or play form? Yes, once... a very long time ago. I'd forgotten till just now.

Five favorite words: ...A new day has begun... (note, these are not 5 single favorite words, they are 5 favorite words together, and together they mean possibility and opportunity for anything and everything... it means I've been gifted with one more day... what is better than that?)

Which character most resembles you? The lead in my second novel... Anna... she resembles me because she is me, and many, many other girls and women in the world.

Where do you get your ideas for other characters? If I knew that, I'd take up permanent residency there.

Ever write things based on your dreams? Yes! Mustn't forget those...

Do you favor happy endings, sad or cliff-hangers? Yes! Do you favor more than one kind of food for the body? I favor more than one kind of nourishment for the mind.

Ever written anything based on an artwork? Absolutely! As a writer, I am inspired by a great many things, not the least of which is the product of anothers inspiration.

Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write? Of course! I'm concerned with it when anyone writes, especially me! It's one of those pet peeves of mine... the fundamentals of the English language are going down the drain! While I'm not necessarily bothered by the people who speak incorrectly, the evidence of poor education producing poor language skills in their communication drives me right up the wall!

Ever write entirely in chatspeak? NO.

Entirely in L337? What?

Does music help? Good music helps everything, always.

Quote something you’ve written: please refer to any of the answers above.


Okay... I'm not tagging anyone, if you want to do this one, please feel free and do it, and then tell me so I can come read it!

My Love

Mi Amore,

It's been such a long day, it seems like such a long time since I've seen you. Every eternal moment passes almost without moving, with no cadence or rhythm, it just drifts through me, past me... and it feels as though time does not carry me with it, to you. The ache weighs so heavily in my body that it reaches into my soul. How much I miss you.

But somehow I will arrive tonight, when at last I lay my head down and close my eyes. Then the darkness will open up and I'll walk through the door of our home there by the sea, and you will be waiting for me, just as you are every night, with your laughing, dancing eyes and your open arms. When those strong arms close around me, everything else that has worried my mind and heart will slip away into the highland mist that hovers over the green hills and moors beyond the house.

You always have a fire ready in the fireplace for us, and tea to share as we snuggle up together under our quilt in front of the fire. I love to watch its light in your eyes and that dimple in your cheek as you smile while you tell me stories. The softness of your voice fills the air around me like the deep quiet notes of a cello playing a melody that I alone can hear. It ripples through my body and soul and its sound synchronizes everything within me to my core.

The tips of your fingers, gently tracing my cheek and lips are the only tether that keeps me from floating away into the deep sea blues and greens in your eyes. How far do those eyes reach? Eternity? In all the times I've lost and found myself in them, I've only ever seen a beautiful sanctuary where we exist as one, without beginning and without end.

I tangle my fingers in your dark curly hair, and laugh at your endearing ways. I only pout playfully when you tease me a little, but then you pull me so close and kiss it away as though it were a shadow hiding from the sun. There isn't anything in the world that comforts me so much as your strong arms around me, nothing could penetrate that bond. I rest close to your neck and you lean your head on mine. The scents of you; faint sea, wood, wild heather and the highland mist... are intermingled on your skin and breathing it in deeply while I'm in your arms fills me completely with a blend of heady desire and warm serenity.

How the nearness of you takes me away to places I never imagined could exist, and you are in all of them, and I am with you, part of you ~ always. That look of hunger and need that haunts your face when you see me coming to our bed always undoes me; it's as though you are caged in desperation until the touch of your fingers on my skin releases you in that instant, and you are suddenly able to breath again. It mirrors my own desire for you.

Strong and gentle, your touch, your lips and arms, every part of our bodies, your need and mine, until we are one; shivering in the power of passion and ensconced in the fullness of love. Blanketed in the stillness of the night, wrapped so closely around each other, we sleep until the soft light of dawn touches the edge of the tall windows.

I rise to your beautiful smile as you hand me steaming coffee and kiss my face as delicately as a feather touch, my cheeks, my forehead, and at last my lips. We tease and laugh and play as we ready for the day and you walk me to the door. I know what's waiting beyond it and I want nothing more than to bury my face in your chest and stay, but we know I must go.

"We'll go to Paris tonight when you come home, and stay for the weekend, alright my love?" you tell me in the soft quiet voice that is meant only for me. I nod my head. Your finger reaches under my chin, and tenderly lifts my face to meet yours and I look into your serious eyes. "The time will fly, and I'll be with you, in your heart, every moment..." you tell me in a whisper.

And I slowly pull myself, unwillingly, from your arms while you stand as still as a statue and watch me so intensely, your face solemn, making yourself let me go. It is only our hands that touch now, and as I step through the door, our intertwined fingers slide slowly apart.

The door closes and I force myself back here, to my own bed where I am laying alone without you. I only open my eyes when I know I must, and I stare silently out the window at the day that has begun. The long day that I will find my way through, somehow, until the night brings me to you again. It is a half life, my half without you, and it is something, but it will never be everything until you are with me, once again.

You are the breath of my soul, my love, a timeless constant... the other part of me that I only barely exist without, and I will find you again. Somehow, somewhere along this journey that I wander through, I will find you again, and when at last your arms are around me, we will never let go.

Until then, I will wait to see you in my dreams, wait until my head is deep in my pillow and I close my eyes and the darkness opens up and I see the door of our home, where you wait for me.

I love you.

What I Said Today

We all die, a little every day, but when we wear those glasses and look at the world, it makes the living all the more precious.

Phoctober 9th.... Pheet and Phunny Phaces

Moon Topples photo game "Phoctober" has turned up some wonderful pictures all around, it's been very entertaining! Thanks for coming up with this, MT.

The life of the party! Custard filled cupcakes...

Self watering mushroom... verrrry fun...

And a poem about feet, inspired by a particular pair of feet that were dressed nicely in sparkly sandals and caught my attention the other day; I think we take our feet for granted too often.

Feet~

To walk upon

and carry me

where my will

and way may take me

from the rise

to the fall

for each beat

of the heart which keeps

me alive

I step yet again

towards the moment

that I'll die

and I slip

them into cool water

and run

across hot sand

and revel in the cool blades

of the grass that cuts

the heat

that burns my feet

the toes

which balance

and point

and spread

and the heel

that steadies

and rocks

and holds

the body it carries

the heart and soul

thankless work

for foundation

for base

no gratitude found

in time or place

but on we go

with carefree thought

and shorn of woe

we trudge

and dance

and skip

and trip along

until the music ends

and so

the song slows

to a single note

then silenced

and resting there

in statuesque repose

are weary worn

the heels

and toes

that a lifetime

of miles have known

and finally have found

a stillness

when the body has

flown.

A Shameless Lions Story

Have you heard about the exciting writing project happening over at The Shameless Lions Writing Circle?

A ring of words... Shameless Words began a story with this photo and then passed it on to Kay at As It Happens who gifted me with it. Each of the members of The Shameless Lions Writing Circle will take a turn writing part of the story, and after each piece is written, that member will choose the next writer. When it is complete, we will decide on a name for it. How many twists and turns will this lady named Grace take as she makes her way through the lions circle? Let's find out... I'll post the new chapters as they become available.

See here for the basic rules.

And... the story so far:

_______________________________________

The new watch that Grace's husband had given her the week before slipped inside the sleeve of her coat as her arm went up in the air. She felt she had no control over the movement, as though it were completely natural for her to be hailing a cab in the middle of New York. She felt as if she were being directed by remote control. 4:42pm, October 7. She made a mental note of the time, thinking it might be something she'd always want to remember.

"I just want you to drive," she said as she got in, avoiding the driver's eyes.

"Drive? Drive where, sweetheart?" He sounded like he might be Middle Eastern, although the writing on photos and cards above his head looked like it could be Greek. She also noticed African music coming from the radio.

"I'll let you know. For now just drive anywhere. Wherever your instinct takes you."

"That is strange."

"Yes, it's strange. Please just drive. Anywhere."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." During the few minutes it took for the cab to rejoin the flow of angry traffic, she stared at the entrance to the subway that she'd been using to get home every night for the past 12 years. Ample time to change her mind. She turned off her mobile as the cab swung into Third Avenue. Happy trumpets played as a grainy picture of Sebastian and the two little ones faded into black. (1)

Grace sat back and tried to relax. All her muscles were tense. She moved her head a little from side to side to try and release some of the tension in her neck. She made an effort to relax her face muscles that she was sure were drawn up into a tight mask. As the cab swooped along with the stream of homeward-bound traffic, a sudden gust of wind swirled fallen orange and red leaves into a mad dance. She found their dance mesmerising. It reflected her mood of being drawn into a wild dance, almost out of control. Where the dance would lead, she had no idea.

“Ok sweetheart?” the cab driver sounded uncomfortable with his role of just driving anywhere.

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. She wished he would stop calling her sweetheart. She didn’t feel like anybody’s sweetheart. She looked down at her tan boots and noticed one of the toes was scuffed. She fingered the money purse inside the large red shoulder-bag sitting beside her like an obedient pet. She would have to watch the fare. After all, she only had so much money to go on. She made herself stop biting her fingernails as she tried to figure out just where she wanted the taxi cab to drop her. (2)

------------------------------------------------

Grace closed her eyes and thought of the gaping entrance to the subway that she'd just abandoned. It was a turning point; she'd finally turned away from him, but to what? Never back to the barren arctic mausoleum; that prison home that the train had returned her to for so many nights, so many years, devoid of warmth, of love, of anything she really needed. She refused to lose another precious moment of her life to it, she knew if she went back again, there would be no more life.

Her thoughts were a blizzard through which she could only take a step at a time; slowly, carefully, blinded by the unknown... but feeling for it desperately, going anywhere as long as it was away. She had to escape. The storm of his loathing and anger raged around her in her mind and her heart began to pound, her pulse started to race and she knew this was it.

Reality seemed to fade into a dream and she fled the monster at her heels in uncertainty... could she make it? Could she really leave and be free? At last? The thought of it beckoned to her like a distant star in her dark night and the shadow of an image began to take form and make it's way to the forefront of her mind. Jack. It was her only chance.

The possibility of it was slim... but, perhaps. She had to try. Leaning forward, she instructed the cab driver with urgent directions and he was relieved that she'd finally determined a destination.

For the first time in ages, she stood at the base of the stairs that led up to his door and willed herself to move. How many years had it been... a hundred at least? What if he wasn't home? What if he didn't care about their friendship anymore? She'd let the winds of time carry it away in small fragments... like the leaves swirling about her feet, that skittered on the air and vanished. Grace carried the weight of the world and the bulk of the past with her up the steps and hesitated before pressing the button by the large door of the brownstone.

Time never passed so slowly. Her heart pounded in her chest and blood rushed in her ears. She drew a shaky breath. He might be gone. Maybe he had company. He probably wouldn't even want to speak to her. What if he didn't recognize her? How could she even come here at all? What was she thinking? Certainly he must be angry that she'd let their friendship go. All those years... best friends since they were children, and she'd let it go. How could she have done that for the monster she'd married? She began to breath shallow and quick. He had seemed so hurt the last time they'd talked.

She gasped and jerked her head up.
He'd opened the door, shock and disbelief registering on his face.
She froze.

"Grace?" he whispered her name like a prayer from the heart. There was more emotion in that one word than she'd felt from her husband in a year.

"Jack... I..." she stammered, unsure that she should have come at all.

In a single movement he came through the doorway and pulled her into his arms tightly. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he only let her go long enough to cup her face in his hands and peer into it closely, searching for any sign of pain, as a parent might do to his long lost child. He saw it there and pulled her back into his whole embrace. Anxiety and hope filled her clenched lungs as she allowed herself to breathe deeply.

"Come. Come in and we'll take care of it." he said quietly, as he brought her into his home.

He sat with her on the couch and watched her, listening intently as she spoke.

"I'm so sorry to just show up like this... I..." she clasped her hands tightly in her lap and stared straight through them.

"Grace, please don't apologize, there's no need at all. We're best friends, and you know time can't touch that. It doesn't matter what brought you here, you are welcome to stay as long as you need to and you know that you are safe. No one can touch you here. I'll make sure of that."

She stared at his unwavering countenance. Into his bottomless, dark eyes. Time ceased to exist then, time that had passed and time that would have come after this moment. It was as if they'd never been apart even a day. She launched herself into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much, thank you."

"You are one of the strongest women I've ever met. You are unstoppable, vibrant and passionate, and you are so full of secrets right now! This is not the Grace that I know," he said skeptically as he raised one eyebrow and with his hand on her chin, turned her face from side to side, "where's that wonder woman that could take on the world? Why have you hidden yourself away behind this mask?" He paused and whispered, "What happened to you mon ami?"

Grace looked around for an answer to his question, as though the welcoming walls in the room might offer her the words that she could not find. She opened her mouth to tell him, but somehow the brave front that she had shielded herself with crumbled in this sanctuary where she knew she could finally fall on her knees and find solace. Tears carried the pain away as they streamed down her pale cheeks like a long overdue rain on parched land. Saying nothing, Jack drew her to his chest, held her close and stroked her hair until she cried herself to sleep. He laid her head on a deep pillow and covered her with a thick quilt. Grace drifted off into a deeper slumber than she'd had in months, and Jack watched her for a long time.

It was late when he reached for his phone and dialed the number. He spoke softly, his eyes never leaving her as she slept. "Sebastian, you won't believe this. Grace is here... she finally came; she left him. Now she can begin." (3)



That was so much fun. Thanks Seamus, Kay and Viaggiatore!
I shall pass this along to Minx now, and she'll open the next page for Grace.

1) Seamus @ Shameless Words
2) Kay @ As it happens
3) Scarlett @ From the shores of introspect and retrospect

Cinco Grande -or- The Big Five

Bonnie (a very good writer) at Words from a Wordsmith, has tagged me with a writing exercise.

Thanks! Love to play along.
The idea is to come up with 5 strengths that I have as a writer.

1. I love wordplay... changing a word or the spelling of a word to effect a different meaning; challenging my mind, and I have a few friends that play the word game with me; it's lots of fun. One of my favorite blogging word game moments was with Jon from Writing in a Vacuum, he regaled his readers with the story of a farm-dwelling student of his, the boy said he'd delivered a calf over the weekend; Jon teased him and asked 'how did you get it through the letter box?' and I couldn't resist answering, 'but of course, he folded it in calf!'
Having practiced writing this way, quite frequently, has made me better at it. I can hold my own, most of the time now.


2. Metaphors... I find these most useful when I am trying to express a particular idea, opinion or belief (mine of course) in a way that will persuade the listener/reader. I love seeing metaphors in art, in life, in words, in everything. We are all connected to everyone and everything else in a visceral way, and communicating that brings me great satisfaction. I am reminded of the cycles that Vanilla and Chief Biscuit recently discussed in regards to the turn of the seasons; while they enjoy the coming of spring and I am relishing the new days of autumn... we are all dancing the waltz of time and season and yin and yang, we are partnered with our opposites and we rely on the balance that it brings us in every moment of every day, in step with time that has passed and time that will come, and in our fractions of cycle we are made whole by each other, by balance, and the circle is complete.


3. Style... The signature of the writer. How do they write... how do they begin, draw you in, and let you go, hopefully bettered by your indulgence in their words; perhaps by knowledge, encouragement or reinforcing the conviction of your own thoughts. Good style is paramount to successful writing, and it develops and changes over time; as the writer grows and changes, so too does the way the ink falls on the page. I write with determination, depth and purpose... unless I'm word playing. I want my words to mean something to the people that read them; I cannot draw up that which is within me, craft it into the written word, and offer it up without knowing that there is some value to be gotten from it for the eyes, mind, heart and soul of those who would take time to read it.


4. Devotion... I am wholly devoted to writing. I always have been, since I learned how to put words together. I called a publishing company when I was 12 years old and asked their editorial department if they published books written by 13 year old people (I thought it might go better if I sounded older). The woman who answered the phone was annoyed and short with me, but it did not deter me. They said no, by the way. I still don't leave home without pen and paper, and a camera- these days. I learned a long time ago that the written word can change things, change minds, change life. I consider it a responsibility by virtue of morality, to write well, to write honestly, and to write so that others may learn and glean benefit from it. I saw this recently when I shared my essay 'Losing the Vision' with some teenage girls. They were changed by it, they learned some important lessons in it. In the discussion following the reading of the work, they expressed surprise and opinions, and their personalities and minds developed more. The frosting on the cake was that there were others within ear shot who were not part of the discussion but who joined in because they couldn't walk away from it. That is making a difference. That is success, and it is the harvest of devotion.


5. Constructive Criticism... The single best way to grow as a writer is to allow others with knowledge and experience to prune your words. To help shape your style. To teach you. To show you what you could not see. I really like getting constructive criticism. It comes from so many different people and situations, but as long as it's encouraging and helpful, it is always welcome, and always invaluable. Editing is a tough job, it takes the right eyes and mind, to see what is good and what could be better, and then to return a work to an author after having sliced through it with the red inked saber quill... that takes someone special. It only works when the other half of the deal... the recipient, is willing to take the edited work and grow with it. Accept the changes and continue forward. It is always fascinating to me to see my work refined by other minds. To step into their shoes and look at my work through their eyes. It changes everything so much. I have been most lucky and blessed to have happened upon a very talented and kind editor in this funny old blogosphere, and it has been my deep pleasure to have worked with her -just a little so far, more to come later- as writer and editor. Minx from The Inner Minx, has taken to editing different works for others in our group and lucky for us all, she's very good at it. Thanks, Minx, for great editing. It is that sun and rain which helps us grow strong and magnificent.


Now I get to tag 5 others.
OK... 5 of my favorite writers - and please remember, there are several writers that I quite enjoy here, but I had my hand slapped for bending rules before, so it shall only be 5 this time.

1. Minx
2. Jon
3. Sognatrice
4. Verilion
5. Cleopantha


Have fun, can't wait to read it all.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore

Award for Viaggiatore & A word from Viaggiatore

Rooooooaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!!!!!!

I would like to thank each and every member of The Shameless Lions Writing Circle who voted for me. I greatly appreciate this award, and I choose to share it with all of the lions, as each of my brothers and sisters is beautiful in a different way.

I look forward to writing and working with each of you, for a long time to come. It is my honor to be in this circle; thank you Seamus for the opportunity to do this.

Viaggiatore

III. Viaggiatore ~ Sahara sand and the Mediterranean Sea

"It's so hot today." I whispered with a quiet sigh.

Viaggiatore turned and looked at me with those bottomless eyes. "It is warm, but it's not hot."

"You're in a fur coat and you don't think this is hot?" I gave him the 'single-raised eyebrow' of doubt.

"When I escaped from the evil chief of the Kilmuseri tribe at Mt. Elgon on the Kenyan and Ugandan borders, I headed north into the Sahara desert. It was 125 degrees. That was hot."

Both eyebrows shot up that time. "Wow... that is hot. How long were you in the desert?"




He swung his tail and shook his mane out and the scent of it's blossoms filled the air around us. "It took several weeks getting through that desert. It's about three thousand miles from Lake Victoria to Tunis, Tunisia. I ran as much as I could at night, I stopped at each little oasis that I could find. I met some friends along the way that were good to me, but it was a difficult journey. The good thoughts and deeds that followed in my wake were like rain in the desert to the people that I touched; it strengthens me when the idea of helping others is manifested in the lives of those that I meet."

I watched him quietly. I didn't want him to stop speaking.

"By the time I got to the Mediterranean Sea, I was feeling much better. I rested for a few days in Tunis, and then swam to Marseille, France. I stopped at a few random islands on the way but swimming in the sea was easier and faster than getting through the Sahara."

"You swam across the Mediterranean?" I was surprised to hear this latest twist in his tale.

"I am not a typical lion." he winked at me and smiled.

Viaggiatore stretched his legs out a little and wiggled his toes. "When I got to Marseille it was only a short distance to Lyon, France. I wanted to get to Shameless' place so that I could get into the writing circle. I have had such an incredible life, and it's only getting more interesting; the writing circle is just the place for me to share that, and it's good to have writing partners."

"You are definitely one of a kind, and I am so glad that you are with me now. Adopting you was one of the best things I've ever done." I said as I reached over and scratched his chin.

"We are a great team, you and I, and we are lucky to be in The Shameless Lions Writing Circle with so many other talented and wonderful writers. This part of our journey will be something wonderful."

Scarlett & Viaggiatore

Viaggiatore ~ Lion hide and jungle flight

Viaggiatore and I were sitting on the beach today, watching the tides roll in and listening to the sounds of the crashing surf. I was rubbing his ears and running my fingernails over his back... he loves that, it makes him purr very loudly. I have been aching to ask him to reveal his story to me, and this was the ideal time to open that door.

"Tell me how you came to be in Lyon, France." I said.

His gaze drifted from the glint of sunlight on the waves to meet my quiet countenance.
Looking into his eyes is like staring into the deepest blue part of the sky, and trying to see the place where the light fades into dark space... knowing that beyond what you can see lies a vast place, boundless and completely incomprehensible... filled with beauty and wonder.

His voice was soft and solemn. "I was in Nyeri, Kenya. I was visiting the children at Tumaini, most of them are orphans whose families have perished from AIDS. Some of the most beautiful blossoms in my mane are from these children. One night, after we had run and laughed and played all day, rest had finally overtaken us... tired and happy. As the stars passed over head, sparkling in silence, something else passed. The shadow of an elusive hunter caught only by the moonlight. I don't know how he captured me, I only know that when I awoke I was laying in a small cage in the dark and enclosed back of a truck... headed west... away from the horizon of Nyeri.

I tried to move, to stand in the cage, but it was so small that I could not get up; there was only enough room for me to lay on my side. I assume this was so I could not crouch to pounce, it put me at quite a disadvantage. I could see the sky out of the back of the truck, but that was all. I watched that patch of sky for what seemed like hours, trying to determine my direction and probable distance. Africa can be a dangerous place, knowing where I was would help me in escaping.

As it turned out, when the truck stopped, I knew immediately where I was by the smell of the air. A tarp was thrown over the cage to block light and view, but the scent of the air by Victoria Lake is unmistakable. I was about 160 miles west of Nyeri. I heard voices speaking in hushed tones... there was an exchange of some valuable item, and the hunter gave me over to the chief of the Kilmuseri tribe. As soon as the cage was opened, both my left front and left rear legs were clapped in irons and I was chained to a huge tree. The members of the tribe would not come near me... they stared with wide eyes from behind surrounding trees.

I asked for water... my thirst was terrible, but my voice and speaking ability terrified the tribal members and they ran. The saying goes, 'ask and ye shall receive'... and this time was no exception. The end of the rainy season there closed with a thunderous downpour of torrential rain for three days straight. I had no shelter, save the tree that I was chained to, but it's canopy gave some relief. On the third day, late in the afternoon, the chief of the tribe came to see me.

"Why am I here?" I asked. He sneered at me. "You are here because you have something I want." I watched him carefully, his cold greedy eyes moved over my body. "What do you want?" I wasn't sure I really wanted to know. He leaned in almost close enough for me to reach... and said in a low voice, "I want your skin... as a robe, and your head as my headdress."
Fury ran through me like a bolt of lightening, "You will never have it!" I roared with such force that he careened to the ground, landing on his back. Trapped though I was, I went for him with all that was in me.



I was filled with such rage when I ran for the chief that the powerful force of my leap snapped the chains that bound me. As I was about to reach him, the tribal warriors surrounded me, yelling and shoving spears into my face and lancing my body with the biting steel tips of their weapons. The chief jumped to his feet and ordered them to stop... and they pulled back only enough for me to circle and growl fiercely at them. "I will kill him tonight when the moon rises!" he called out to all of them. I knew I had to leave at that moment, before they locked my chains again. I looked for the smallest warrior and leaped straight for his head. He panicked and ducked, but as I arced over his body, the man next to him drove his spear into my left front leg."


Viaggiatore looked down at the wound on his leg. I've dressed it and wrapped it since he's been here, and my cousin, Dr. T. Lyon in Pittsburgh, gave us some helpful tips in making it heal quickly. I continued scratching his back, and he continued his story.

"The pain was excruciating, but I kept running until I could not hear them very well. I was able to pull the spear head out with my teeth, but my leg was bleeding and I knew I wouldn't be able to travel very far without resting. I decided to head to Mt. Elgon, just north of Victoria Lake. I thought I could hide in Budadiri forest, at the base of the Ugandan side of the mountain, and rest for the night. I had just reached the edge of the trees there, when I heard a noise and saw the tribal chief only 30 meters behind me. I ran into the forest and he chased... I knew he'd have a hard time hunting me there.

I made it to Sipi Falls, and thought he couldn't have followed me that far, and if he had, he wouldn't be able to hear me because the crash of the falls is so loud. He didn't see me, but I saw him and thought I'd be better off leaving than hiding. My leg was swollen by this time, and my fur was caked with blood. The pain had reached my shoulder, and I knew I couldn't go far, so I went a short way up the mountain to Kitum cave and finally found my saving grace there, under the most unusual circumstance.

It is the habit of the elephants and other animals that live on and around Mt. Elgon, to go into the caves there at night to lick the salt from the walls. As a matter of consequence, they have literally dug their way into the mountain some 200 meters with their tongues. On that night, a large herd of elephants had gathered and when I came into the cave, they welcomed me and offered a restful quiet place in the back of the cave, and safety in their midst. I was so exhausted that sleep found me immediately. The chief also found me, I learned, when a bird came to report that he was making his way through the lush vegetation toward us. The herd of elephants grew furious and what started as a blockade at the mouth of the cave turned into a full blown stampede down the side of the mountain... right on the heels of the chief... all the way to Budadiri forest.

I slept soundly through the dark hours and in the morning a small rabbit asked if she could take me to the top of the mountain, which is actually a dead volcano. In the crater at the top are hot springs which she said would help heal my wound. We were able to go slowly and I spent a day in the healing waters of those hot springs. When the afternoon sun started sinking into the wavering heat of the African landscape, I made my way down the Kenyan side of Mt. Elgon, and when I reached the bottom I ran north, wounded and slow, into the night."

That is as far as we got, because some friends came to visit. We've had many visitors over the last few days, and it's been nice to see them. Viaggiatore has had the opportunity to see some of his brothers, and he enjoyed it very much. I will ask him about the rest of the story in the next day or two, when he looks as if he's feeling up to talking about it.

Thank you for visiting, we look forward to seeing you again.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore

Viaggiatore ~ The Lion of Lyon Tail

I've adopted a Shameless Lion from Lyon, France. Everyone, please meet Viaggiatore. His name means 'traveler' in Italian. He comes from a rather large pride (he has 44 brothers and 3 sisters), all of which have been adopted into the excellent homes of the members of The Shameless Lions Writing Circle... of which I am also a member, and hence had the opportunity to bring Viaggiatore home. Here's his picture as it was on the morning I brought him here:

He wasn't here even a moment before he left his little pedestal in the photo and began to wander about the page. When last I saw him, he said he wanted to go watch the sun set on the ocean (we have a lovely view of the beach just outside the front window there....) and that is just where he headed off. I'm not surprised, really... after all, he is a traveler, and quite an interesting lion.

I will invite you to visit with us a bit, and find out more about him, as he has had quite an amazing journey getting here; the peace of this place is exactly what he needed.

Viaggiatore was once a single thought... just one idea. Long ago, a good Samaritan selflessly saved the life of another human, with no thought for his own safety. The Lord was so pleased at this act of love, that he offered the Samaritan a wish... anything he wanted. The Samaritan said he wished only to continue to do good, everywhere he went, without ever knowing it. The Lord granted this wish, and then decided that it was such a good idea, it ought to be everywhere, for everyone.

He created Viaggiatore as a thought... it is him, in those moments of kindness when we do not know the good we do for others, he is a passing idea... a traveling thought that steps gently within us, and then moves on. As Viaggiatore passed throughout the world touching others, he walked away with remnants of each step touching him, and these remnants created a tangible body for him. The beauty of a world in unity incarnate in the skin of a lion. If you click on his picture (the original) you can see an enlarged version of him.

His feet are covered with the flowers of fields and meadows that he has traversed, his legs and body are colored with the tides of every sea. On close inspection, you will discover images of shipwrecks and sea creatures emblazoned on his sides. The words of the world have covered his legs, and the likeness of continents he has passed through are evident on his hide. Viaggiatore's tail is adorned with miniature works of art that he loves, the most famous being Leonardo Da Vinci's "Mona Lisa"... and just a little way further down his tail, he keeps a watch (so that we do not run on Scarlett time... he says to me with a sly smile). On his back, he proudly wears a small rug, gifted to him by the Maharishi in honor of the goodness and peace that Viaggiatore spreads. His mane is a wild abundance of flowers and blossoms, given to him by all the children of the world, in every country, it is fragrant and light, and when the wind dances in it, the scent fills the air with the sweetest fragrance ever known.

He wears two earrings in his left ear, one for unity, the other for peace. On his left rear paw, he wears a chain... put there by the evil chief of a jungle tribe (more on that later). When I offered to take if off, he declined... "oh no," he told me... "I am made of the places that I have passed through, like any of us, it is the good and the bad that make me who I am and I cannot discard those things in my life that weren't good, any more than you can. It gives me character anyway, don't you think?" So it remains. At his feet rests a book that he is never without. "Knowledge gives us the capacity to understand our world, and better it." he said. I haven't had a chance to look at the book yet, perhaps someday he will let me. The scarf he wears was a gift from me, I picked it up in Paris last April, and he liked it immediately, so I gave it to him.

His front left leg was injured in his escape from the evil chief of the jungle tribe, and I have bandaged it and called my cousin in Pittsburgh, Dr. T. Lyon, to ask her to mend it up for him. He will spend some time here, healing, and we will divulge the tail (excuse me... tale) of his great escape to you as the days pass. When he is quite himself again, Viaggiatore and I will be off to explore the world and go on many great adventures together. Each will be chronicled here, to share with you. Postcards home to our friends and family.

Thank you for being here, we look forward to visiting with you again soon.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore