My life glides by with such lightning speed that I scarce can mark the days. Time is moving beyond my mind's ability to remember the reasons why I set out on this journey in the beginning. As I look back over the moments, the days and years, I wish upon a memory. The stars are bounteous in the sky but they don't hold what I need to find. My wishes are in a time capsule that exists in some etherical place beyond time. So I reach out to capture a glimpse of my dreams to become a creative freelance writer. In that space of memories, my name is printed boldly on the books I always intended to write.

Daydreams carry me back to years so far away yet just within my reach. I close my eyes and reminisce about when life was like a romantic poem. Every thought and every dream had a magical happy ending. Nothing was impossible then if only I dared to dream it. Oh, how I wish upon a memory that I could turn back the years and live those happy dreams once again. A smile gingerly crosses my lips as I fondly think of those times where I sat in a meadow or a forest feeling carefree. My tablet and pen were always ready and my fresh mind was always willing to scribe the wondrous thoughts that happened along. I gazed for hours at the flowers, the sky, the birds, the trees and contemplated rhymes as I listened to the buzzing bees. It was all so perfect, so beautiful, so easy then.

When I go back to those precious times, I reach for those stars in my eyes again and step into the brightness of that time. Visions come back to me now as I remember my favorite suspense short story and how I pondered its ending. I wrote copious notes and alternative scenes. The possibilities for the story were so diverse that I could have written a dozen stories from one creative idea.

"Tread softly and slowly old woman", they say.
"Watch every step so you don't fall."
Eternity is creeping in without delay
Familiar words I seem to recall
Were uttered to me as a young lass of three
Oh, when my step was clumsy and carefree
Ironic how familiar the sounds and hence
I walk a grandmother's twilight cadence.

The Midnight Writer

From deep slumber my body awoke still drowsy in dreams now fading.
The scent of maple on hotcakes stirred my tastebuds
As the crackling fire carried me away, my senses evading
The wakeful bliss I almost tasted seconds ago.

I rolled in my bunk bed with that familiar wood creaking
From the weight of my body too large for the bed's small frame.
The smell of wool mingled with lavendar filled my nostrils
So I lavished there for a moment to savor, my senses tame.

The lavendar and wool tempted me to prolong my slumber
While the essence of maple aroused me from my bed
My mouth watered over the memories of Mom's hotcakes and eggs
Yet the trip to the outhouse amidst shadows and snakes, I dread.

I shivered in the early morning chill yearning to sit by the fire
That Mom always had burning hot for breakfast in our vacation cabin
So I slipped on my robe and dashed out to greet the morning spirits
Who linger just after dawn, waiting to taunt me with great chagrin

Cold and ancient elements melded to form the stone
That rests atop a lonely mountain peak, a jutted steep incline
Impossible to cross on foot without a climber's rope
Winds sheer the rock face sculpting a jutted edge then a line
An evolving work of art stands on the mountain high on display
With my heart trapped deep inside that ancient rock.
I cry out to the universe to set my spirit free from this place.
To the gods I pray chisel my heart free from the stone.

My eyes grow weary and to sleep, I succumb
From me, the faded thoughts relent
The scent of Astoria still fresh in my mind
Though in the field I lay down, body spent 
Lobelia flowers cast their magic spell on my limbs
Sleep falls swiftly as I drift within the mist of dreams. 
The scent of Wisteria intoxicates  my senses
As the Mist moistens my chilling flesh.
Velvety blankets of Kilarney moss embrace me
As I rouse slowly from my herbal slumber.

The sunlight is filtered through the tall oak trees
Giants that rival the trees of Scarborough's Shire
At the meadows edge the tall shadowy figure lurks
Bent on knees against the moss laden ground.
Mused and startled both at the same time
My breath rises in cloudy vapors, my heart aligns
Restoring balance to my shivering scant clad frame.
  

   
   

My thoughts turn to you these days more often than I care to say. I remember all the good times that are mere faded memories now. I long for the laughter that we all shared back then as one big happy family. The days are long gone, the memories are fading and some of you have moved on to an eternal place that I only visit in dreams. Even knowing this, the longing does not lessen in my aching heart. I miss you Mom and Dad, Grandpap, Grandma, and all my Aunts and Uncles who were the center and heartbeat of my family in those years long ago. I reach for you and those memories when I need the strength of family bonds. The distance between now and those memories and eternity grows further with each passing year, so I reach higher and further until I find you. And there you all remain in the bosom of my heart, right where you left your love indelibly inscribed upon my heart.

The Midnight Writer

Sonya's silk stockings were torn from the ankle up. She got caught on some old wire fencing as she was running through the field. When she fell, Sonya barely felt any pain even though her knee hit a small rock. The blood was scant so she wiped it away and kept running. The night air was moist and quiet except for the sound of her hard panting breath. Sonya could feel them closing in on her so she sped up her pace, and her breathing.

The night was young so the moon was not yet risen. It's light filtered through the mist across the field creating eerie shadows that chilled Sonya's spine. She expected them to jump out from these ghostly specters at any second. Half way across the field, Sonya's knee began to throb. Needles shot up her leg into her lower spine that almost sent her reeling to the ground again. Knowing that they were closing in, Sonya did not succumb to either the pain or the fright of shadows.