Through words and pictures, we walk the winding trails of the untamed west. As a Wyoming Christian author, I breathe the beauty around me, transferring it to paper. I dare all to take the leap into God's country. Learn of its untold stories and reveal for yourself . . . where the wild meets the Forgiven.
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The Season of Great Chaos
Shasta, the tigress
I love Christmas. Decorations
are everywhere. The adorned tree stands in the corner, a village covers the
table, and stockings hang from the mantle.Baubles to bat, wires to chew, limbs to climb… Christmas cheer or feline
calamity? That is the question.
From the bedroom, I hear a rustling
sound in the living room. I peek around the corner and notice that the
Christmas tree is shaking. I walk closer to spy my cat, Shasta, at the base of
the tree, or at least one of her back paws. She’d attempted to climb into the
densely decorated limbs. A pitiful meow sounds through the branches. Reaching
under the tree, I snag her leg and pull her out then watch as she hisses and
bounds away in a huff.
Not even a thank you!
Well, Calamity One averted at two a.m.
“Don’t even think about it,
I turn at the sound of my
son’s tense tones. He’s glaring at the tiger kitty poised to launch onto the
table behind me. I suppress a smile and rise from the couch.
“Come here, Shasta.” I move
quickly to scoop my cat under her belly, cradling her to my chest. Stroking her
head, I can feel her low purr against my ribs and kiss her on the nose. “You
know better than that.”
“She’s such a pain
sometimes.” My son groans and rearranges some village pieces.
“Oh, she’s fine. Just a
little confused right now. What would you do if temptation stared you in the
face every day?”
Calamity Two averted just
I open the bedroom door and
almost trip over my cat. “Shasta!”
She bucks and runs toward
the hearth where she sits in front of her food bowl. Her yellow-green eyes
watch me as I walk across the living room.
I shake my head and sit on
the couch to put on my shoes. A pitiful yowl echoes throughout the house and my
eyes roll. “Shasta, really? Give me a break.”
As my foot slides into the shoe,
silence descends and I glance over at her. My eyes widen in shock. “Shasta, no!”
My cat has her teeth locked
on the strands of lights hanging from the mantle. At my shout, she releases her
grip, and arches her back, her tail bushing. With a growl, she leaps off the
hearth and races into the kitchen.
I close my eyes and try
to slow my pounding heart. Nothing like getting attention the hard way, eh?
Calamity Three averted
No matter how many
disasters I may face, the decorations will continue because I love this time of
year. I adore my Lord, Jesus and I love my kitty, Shasta. She keeps the season interesting, to say the
least. It’s a season of joy and, at times, chaos in this household.
Well, she’s beating at the
window, I better go. May the Lord bless everyone! Merry Christmas.
Falling Rock: A Short Story Once upon a time, in a small Indian
village, a brave warrior called Falling Rock fell in love with the chief’s daughter. She returned
his love and they went before the chief to ask for permission to wed. “You
say you love my daughter. Is this true?” The old chief looked to his youngest
daughter, the most beautiful of his children. “Yes,
Father. He loves me and I love him. Please let us marry.” Her small hands
grasped his gnarly ones and he narrowed his beady eyes at the warrior. “What
do you have to offer for this union, young warrior?” He
watched as the bravery seemed to seep out of the man at his question. “I
have nothing, my chief. I do not own any animals or fancy cloth. I can offer my
service and my loyal protection.” His black eyes met the daughter’s. “To you
and yours for the rest of my days.” “I
have that already, my man. I wish you to complete me a task. If you are
successful, you will have permission to marry my daughter. Do you agree?” The
stage… Raving Lunacy I search
every hidden realm in the computer for my lost words.I dig into the recycle bin, the hard drives,
the documents and picture files looking for the elusive data.No bits or bytes are to be found.Strands of hair fall by my chair and unkind
words caress the ceiling.My husband
listens to the moans and groans for a little while then asks the one question
I do not want to hear.
"Did you save
DID I SAVE THEM?Of course, I saved them!I always
save them!What kind of an airheaded
writer does NOT save their work?Do I
look like an airheaded writer?NO!Of course not, that is because I SAVE MY
WORK!(I did say raving lu…