He was a charming man with a simple-gazed look about him. He had one intention that surpassed all else. To marry a maiden by the many-splendored name of Cordelia. She haunts his dreams by day and night, splendidly clad in outlandishly beautiful dresses.
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The rain slid down over the canopy of the covered wagon like tears. The horses trudged onward through the thick mud. Their skin turned a brown hue, though they were white animals.
The family huddled close together for warmth, edging father from the sides of the wagon, not daring to feel the dampness of their canvas cover. To be wet, you put yourself at risk for hypothermia. For though they hadn't witnessed a single snowflake, the temperatures dipped dangerously low.
The cold was chilling them to the bone. But not nearly as much as the thought of not escaping the dread that was now their past.
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"How sad. That must be really rough on you." That's the response I received, when above all else, I wished I could hide in a cave and talk to a volleyball at night. Instead, I got an uncompassionate, robotic sentence.
Walking through the skywalk, I watched the happy families, many of them tourists. A family. It will always be out of reach for me now. No attractive qualities, no redemptive character. A husband who decided it would be best to run away without a word, rather than be stuck with me for the rest of his life.
I reached the other side of the skywalk, and stepped into the sunlight on the busy cobblestone pathway, lined with shops and bistro tables. From out of the blue, a bike appeared before me, startling me with a twice-stricken bell.
"You look like you could be in use of a good book. I've got a wide selection right here." His bicycle was bedecked with a huge basket - a trailer filled to the brim with an eclectic collection of books.
"Well, thank you, but I've no use for books", I said, ignoring his outstretched arm. A Vanna White flourish of the arm won't help his business with me. He didn't even have a one-of-a-kind outfit on.
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Somehow, I knew that something was horribly awry in the way that he stood there looking at me, his eyes glazed over in such a manner that he couldn't bare to look at me.
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Unknowingly, he had exalted himself to such a high estate that should he be chastised, I fully expect that he should go into hiding, and never return until he become unrecognizable, lest his ego be bruised.
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Wedding bells sounded forth their great and joyous declaration as the newly married couple swiftly exited the church building, hand in hand, greeted with smiles of congratulations, and a whirlwind of bubbles.
Margaret, the only, and younger sister of the bride, gave a discreet nod of the head along with a gentle and knowing smile as the couple strode past.
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A blossom awaits eruption from the bud just outside, on our tree.
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Yes ma'am, I'll get right on that. A woman such as yourself requires all of my energy.
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This is by far the most delicious taste to ever encounter my tastebuds.
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"Fun doesn't equal boring."
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The ticking of the clock soothed me, reminding me that time moves on, regardless of the where's or what's of my life. "Tick tock, tick tock", becomes my song, growing in clarity with the same intensity of my fixation upon it, in which I behold that time is not to be ignored, nor to be glanced upon as in passing upon a bewildering wild plant. it's not a tragic accident that steals your full attention for a while and then you soon fall back into your reverie. Time is constant - therefore it requires constant attention, lest you forget that we are finite creatures, and lose your life by letting each day tick-tock away.
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Maniacally, he shuddered with great torrents of laughter as he ogled over her confoundment.
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Clever creature she was, she escaped the chaos before it had even begun to properly formulate.
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Chiding in with the demented laughter, he felt more depressed than a trilobite embedded in a thick marble stone.
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Shuddering at the very thought of what had appeared to take place, he leapt from his seat to join a more civilized group of comrades.
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So careful not to harm ourselves physically, yet careless in the spirit. We plunge headfirst into sin, which leads to death, without giving it a second thought. Today I saw a photo of a little girl who was burned falling headlong onto a heater. Everyone was greatly troubled by this, but you won't see anyone horrified by the internal sins of themselves. Our mortal bodies are prone to sin, even our brains, but the spirit will have nothing of it. I shudder to think of the agony we put the Holy Spirit though when we choose to let sin reign in our bodies.
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The rain splashed upon my skin, penetrating with sudden chill. It was as though a great ice sheet hung suspended within the thick blankets of grey clouds, dripping its frigid dew to the earth.
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I followed the alluring smell through the pasture - which was no easy task. The pasture has not been used in at least twenty years, and had been over-run with weeds and briar bushes. But the scent was so bewitching to my nose that I simply could not rest until I found the source.
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Insurmountable fear quaked beneath her skin. The sight of Him alone beckoned her to run, not sure if the urge was to be as close or as far away as possible. Numerous times she pleaded with herself to say something, but couldn't bring herself to it. His voice shook the mountains, hers was no longer audible. Deep inside, her soul felt it had found home. His eyes scorched and healed. His hands chastised and caressed. Who is this great "I AM?"
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In the garden, the blossoms enticed the bees to dance. They encircled the sweet petals with a hypnotizing pattern of flight.
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