Self Professed Book Nerd

Aside

I admit I own more books than I do shoes, clothes and animals, although there may be a healthy debate as to who owns whom on the latter. Books are not mere things. They are the dust collecting chasm of my soul, the pulp on which tree and author have given their lives. In them I live and breathe a different life, as many as I chose. I have always been a dreamer. Diversity thrives in every writer’s words, in sentences that lay them bare. Found in the oddest of characters, settings and plots are rare sparkling gems which gleam with words so clear one rereads them, momentarily pulled from that other world into the something greater which connects us all. Here where the author and universe bleed through even the most clichéd of books has something to tell.

Maybe this is why I write, to capture that feeling which a great book gives once it is read. Fingers caressing that last page, a tinge of remorse at the parting, knowing it is time to say goodbye yet satisfied at having met.

100 on Drizzle

It is that kind of day, cast over, clouds of navy and grey blocking any of the sun’s rays. I suppose I should be glad, nature’s watering day, yet the ground squelches its soggy belch. My sandaled feet drown in puddles (no one said I was smart that way). Even the butterflies and birds refuse to fly. Today should be a holiday, a volunteered Saturday. I’d curl into a book with coffee or tea in hand. Hibernate away the day. Drizzle honey on a warm piece of toast or toast to my honey as we slip into another 100 words.  

Book Lover’s Delight!

Twice a year, each on a Saturday I get giddy. It feels like my birthday and Christmas rolled into one. Why, you may ask? Bag day at the Ponte Vedra Beach Library. It is here I find vintage books the world has forgotten, authors whose works line my shelf, and authors who are new to me. I become lost in another world as my fingers peruse the titles, reading the first paragraphs, and taking a chance on something new. All ranges of interests are present and accounted for, including music and movies. Just be sure to get there early. Ponte Vedra Beach has many book worms.

The Naïve Idealist

Suria sat stiff against the wall. Unlike the others, her eyes refused to dart back and forth in anxious sideway glances. Instead, they remained fixed ahead on the door. The image of her neighbor’s orange tabby sunning itself came to mind. It had become a workday ritual to find that cat sprawled across her driveway. She could envision his green eyes sparked from the warmth of the sun as he peered at her; daring her to run him over while that tail tapped ever so lightly against the concrete. If she were once again behind the wheel of her Jeep Cherokee, she would have tested the theory of a cat having nine lives. Inside the last of her sanity cracked. Twenty-six days in a padded Continue Reading →

Walking in the Rain

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Walking In the RainStarted with a fight

Bound to be a long night

Words punctuating air

Moving us beyond repair

And then…

The rain

Falling,

falling down

as we walked without sound.

A puddle stomped here,

A splash there,

Anger transforming

Hearts warming

Walking in the rain

A memory I sustain.