I’ve gone over the edge more than once. But who among us hasn’t? We all come to a bridge, a cliff, a drop, a precipice sometime–or many times–in our lives. It will happen, guaranteed.
You will reach a point, and another point, where it’s either stay or go, sink or swim, leap into the unknown or stay in your current situation. Stay, that is, until it becomes impossibly intolerable. And there you are again, faced with the same choice.
Continue reading at Mystical Strings
“We believe…”
Begin a sentence with those two words and my mind drifts away.
“…that there is only one true…”
Deeper, deeper, my thoughts travel to a place without ears, eyes…
“…are you listening?!”
Continue reading at Two on a Rant
Daring – is what they all called it
even more water than the local swimming pool
everyone egging the challenger on to jump
Continue reading at The Inkwell
The deeper you go
Within your worries and fears
You’ll find your brilliance
Reblogged from Annette Rochelle Aben
A wonderful review from D. Wallace Peach…
As we celebrate our dear story-teller, poet, blogger, and wise-woman Sue Vincent, I’d thought I would share my favorite book of her poetry.
Below is a sublimely beautiful poem from its pages, and my review. If you enjoy it, consider picking up a copy for own heart’s enjoyment. ❤
Flowers
by Sue Vincent
There were always flowers.
Orchids pinned upon a mother’s breast,
All lace and diamonds.
Long black gloves
And painted lips,
As she left, laughing.
A child who watched
As the door closed.
*
There were flowers…
Yellow tulips,
Cellophane and ribbon
A girl who blushed
As the curtain fell
Upon the stage;
She cradled them,
A first bouquet.
*
There were flowers,
Roses and lilies
White, in hands and hair,
Their fragrance mingled
With frankincense,
A ghost of awe and wonder
Finding a home
In memory.
*
There were flowers…
Rainbow hued,
Everywhere.
Greeting a life newborn,
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Layers of new stone try to conceal the evidence of stygian obscured history.
Reblogged from The Bag Lady
A short story for Sue Vincent’s weekly photo prompt.
The river flows as it always did, in turbulent pools where the bank is broken by the deep stone walls. Impregnable, they always said, with the cliff behind and the river before, and my father laughed at the notion of siege.
“We have stores enough for two years within and the wells never run dry.”
When he said I was to marry the neighbouring seigneur to make our joint lands the wealthiest in the county, the fort became a prison. You vowed you would come for me, as I vowed I would be here when you did. No walls would keep me in if your arms waited on the other side.
About the book:
![The Godsend (Innerscape Book 2) by [acflory]](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51DjBpzMzkL.jpg)
A. C. Flory
Desperate to find a version of reality she can live with, Miira Tahn sets out to explore Innerscape, but along the way she discovers there are other worlds open to her as well. The HUBs connect Innerscape to every location in the virtual universe, and some, like the gaming world of the Shogunate, prove to be a lot of fun.
Back in Innerscape, however, a darker game is unfolding. Someone wants the Burned Man silenced, but only the AI knows which body is where, and it’s immune to threats. People, however, are so much easier to manipulate.
Caught in a web of intrigue and deceit, Miira and her friends become pawns in a game where losing means death.
Chris Graham‘s review, reblogged from Meeka’s Mind:
This day really couldn’t get any better. Just found this new review for The Godsend:
‘WOW the action certainly ramps up in this second book of the series. Miira and Jamie are trapped outside Innerscape and in mortal danger, there’s an assassin determined to kill The Burned Man, the falsely accused Kenneth Wu reappears, and much, much more.
Excuse me, Book 3 is calling my name – loudly…’
Continue reading at Meeka’s Mind
We were right about the church; St Mary’s, Sledmere, was well worth a look, though not for our usual reasons. We normally visit the older places of worship by choice, seeking within their hallowed walls the stories and symbolism that helps us to understand an area, its people and history and, if we are lucky, the mysteries of the spiritual journey shared by every living soul. It matters little whether or not we share the beliefs and faith of the people who worship there… we share the journey, even if our paths differ.
The path to the church is bordered by yews through which the squirrels run. The trees look ancient, but are unlisted as such and are therefore unlikely to be more than a few hundred years old at the most. They hide the church from view until you are almost upon it and then the impression is rather strange.
At first glance the building seems relatively simple, although the height of the tower makes an immediate impression as you emerge from the shadows beneath the trees. The clean, sharp lines of the stones proclaim it to be a ‘new’ church… and yet, in the best tradition of Gothic church-building, it is covered in grotesques, gargoyles and carvings, giving the lie to any notion of simplicity.
Not only are there any number of people and vaguely recognisable animals, there are flowers, foliate beings, heraldic and symbolic designs scattered amongst creatures that can only be the product of a fevered imagination. I spent a fair while photographing many of them, but it would have taken hours to get them all!
If we had, by some chance, failed to notice these carvings, the porch would have given a clue as to what we might find inside. Ornately carved niches above the door hold statues, with the face of the central depiction of the Virgin looking rather strange and almost childlike in its execution. The small blocks of carving above the statues were far more interesting, each one containing a Christian symbol replete with meaning, though it took me a while to realise that the boar’s head on the right was actually a dove…
The ornately carved door stood open beneath a richly carved ceiling and we entered a building that stands as a testament to the Victorian passion for Gothic architecture.
The original church here was built eight hundred years ago, though only fragments of the tower now remain. In the eighteenth century, the old church was replaced by a new one, built by Richard Sykes, but this was, in its turn, demolished and replaced by the current building in the late nineteenth century.
Sir Tatton Sykes was an inveterate church builder and there are many examples of his passion in this part of Yorkshire. Sledmere, though, is the largest of the churches he built and one of the last. It stands in the grounds of his home at Sledmere House, which perhaps explains its magnificence. After seeing the ‘Eleanor Cross’ in the village, it was no surprise to learn that the church too had been designed by the architect Temple Moore, who had learned his trade with Sir George Gilbert Scott, the man responsible for giving a Gothic Revival facelift to so many English churches.
Continue reading at France & Vincent
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 