Magpie Tales 70

                             Lonely Hearts                           

 

She loves to haunt the antique shops, poking in all the nooks and crannies.  It is amazing what one can find underneath the main tables, in boxes or on the floor.  Stacked in a dark forgotten corner, a bunch of frames are mostly empty and cheap.  The walnut in the last one is fairly intact, but what she notices, what she always really looks for, is the photo.  Her throat gets tight looking into those eyes.  Who are you?  What is your story? Are you still here, grown aged, with wisdom in your now-wrinkled face, and life’s gnarls in your hands?  Or are you watching me from above, hoping, guiding, nudging me towards this stack?  Why is your photograph here instead of on a relative’s shelf?  She is not able to resist the young woman’s face, cannot stand the thought of leaving her in the shop under the table.  She puts the frame atop her pile of purchases at the counter, and later, at home, after she cleans the glass and polishes the wood, she places her new treasure alongside the painted oil lamp on the lace covered table, smiling.  Somehow, there is a new warmth in that corner, almost a presence, and definitely a story to be discovered or imagined.  She feels less alone.  They both do.

 Photo provided by Tess Kinkaid at Magpie Tales.  Go take a look for lots of good reading!

Magpie 63

Magic

She heard the car pull into the driveway; she knew the sound like she knew how to breathe.  Dolls and make believe dropped like hot potatoes as she slipped and slid in her stocking feet along the linoleum, careening through the hallway and living room to the front door and out.  Even Mommy’s admonitions about not ruining her new white socks were but faint buzzings, background sounds.  Daddy!  She threw herself into his arms and he gathered her to him, lifting and hugging at the same time.  His outdoors in the cold smell, his slightly scratchy whiskered cheeks grazing hers.  This was what she waited for every day.  And today even more so since he had been gone for a whole week.  “Did you bring me a present?”  He gave her that smile, a twinkling hint that, well, maybe he did have something.  It was the game, the ritual that was as delightful as whatever was held in the mysterious interior of the brown leather brief case he always carried.   When he did finally bring out the gift, the kaleidoscope, she was mesmerized by the colors, the sparkles, the way the light and the slightest movement changed the bits of glass. 

She doesn’t remember, now, whatever happened to the magical souvenir.  She did keep all her treasures for years and years, though.  A Steiff dog, a ballerina charm bracelet, an autographed photo of a famous astronaut her daddy had known, the wondrous tube of brightly colored glass.  And the memories.  She has always kept the memories.


Photo provided by Tess Kinkaid.  Check out the great writing at Magpie Tales!

Magpie Tales 60

Rain drops on dry grass

Sharp aroma fills the air

  Now watch for the green

 Another take:

It’s cozy in here.  A rainy day, a book, a cup of tea.  I sit in my chair beside the picture window and watch the storm.  Rain in sun-parched Southern California is always a treat.  We watch as if it were a movie.  The colors of the sky, the swirling of the clouds, the rare jag of lightning across the sky.  Not the stuff of excitement to most of the world, but to us, such a delight.  We are not embarrassed to just go stand out in it, either.  You have to accept Mother Nature’s gifts when she bestows them!

Check out all the fantastic writing on the Magpie Tales site.  Photo provided by Tess Kinkaid.

Magpie Tales 59

To hold that smile for centuries...

I don’t even like to quick-smile for the camera.

To know your secret all that time…

I cannot contain a gossipy tale.

So beautiful and fresh-faced…

I will not meet my public without Ms. Maybelline.

The scrutiny.  The theories. And still you hold the upper hand.

Check out all the fantastic writing on the Magpie Tales site.  Photo provided by Tess Kinkaid.

Magpie Tales 58

 Requital

She was torn.  She so loved the idea of being the pretty one, the damsel with the beautiful gown and the tall pointy hat, long and flowing fabric sprouting from the top.  At least, she loved the idea until she saw the other costumes.  The armour!  The swords, and the intricately embossed shields!  Damn those boys.  They had all the real fun.  What intrigued her most, she decided, was the pony-tail hanging off the center of that one shield.  She hoped it was real.  She hoped it was that mean girl’s.  If it was, then she really did not want to be the damsel, after all. Damsel, indeed. She wanted to be the one who owned that shield.

Check out all the fantastic writing on the Magpie Tales site.  Photo by Tess Kinkaid.

Magpie Tales 57

Violet

They sat at the end of the dining room table, right under the large window, in pots of subtle colors.  The blooms like frosting flowers on parade.  Exuberant.  And with little hidden gems under the leaves as an extra gift for taking the time to look.  She was the only one who could grow them like that.  It might have been the love she showed them. Certainly the light had something to do with it.  No, I think it was the love.


Check out all the fantastic writing on the Magpie Tales site.  Photo by Tess Kinkaid.

Magpie Tales

  Sweet Memory

Around and around and around.  She rode her bike/roller skates/horse/race car/ fast and hard.  The exhilaration of the win was sublime.  No matter that she was the only one in the race, or that the track was the suburban cement driveway in front of the cookie cutter 1950s California ranch-style home.  There were few distractions to mar her dedication save one:  that smell.  Nearing 5 o’clock, it was always the lure that would end the game.  Irresistible it was.  The clink of ice cubes in the cocktail shaker, the call to the family pet that it was dinner time, the escaping music notes from the hi-fi, and the incredible aroma of onions, peppers, and garlic sizzling in the pan in preparation for something

sumptuous to come.  It was of no importance what the actual dinner would be.  It was the smell that always drew her inside.  The smell and the promise of coziness and warmth and comfortable chatter.  The love and the place and the knowledge of home.

My very first Magpie Tales post (first time jitters!).  Check out all the fantastic writing on the Magpie Tales site.  Photo by Tess Kinkaid.