Once upon a time there were books. Stories printed on white sheets of paper, all bound together between two hardcovers. Sometimes there were pictures to help illustrate these stories. These books were like specials friends who took me to wondrous places, introduced me to amazing characters, and fed my imagination. When I was young, I … Continue reading Reading chair
Author: Tara R.
I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.
Lullaby
Now I lay me down Gently into that good night Sleep, perchance to dream *Cento, from the Latin meaning "patchwork," is a form of poetry that uses lines from other poems. Line 1: Joseph Addison, 1711 Line 2: Dylan Thomas, 1951 Line 3: Shakespeare (Hamlet), 1623
Long may she wave
I take my freedoms for granted and complain when things aren’t easy or free. But I have a warm home to live in, cabinets full of food, books and music to enjoy. I can walk down my street in peace, rant about my government without fear, rail against an unjust world, and sleep with my … Continue reading Long may she wave
Big bad George
As much as I complain about my menfolk's tendancies toward packrattery, I have to confess that I am reluctant to part with possessions too. Tucked away in a secret place in my bedroom closet, I keep my childhood comfort toy. This is George. George has been with me since I was about five. He was … Continue reading Big bad George
A slow burning fuse
It didn’t start out all fireworks and loud-speaker marching band music. The fire kindled tentatively. A cautious and shy blaze, a tiny tickle in my stomach. That funny feeling that comes when a car goes over a rise in the road too fast. No roller coaster drop of frightening apprehension, but a perfect shiver from … Continue reading A slow burning fuse
Uncultivated simplicity
Rosemary lived alone in a crude shack at the end of a neighborless dirt road, on a tiny scrub acre of rocky soil. Each spring, she worked her meager garden, breaking up dry earth with her broken-handled hoe, leaving meandering furrows in uneven rows. Her apron pockets filled with dried seeds and kernels from last … Continue reading Uncultivated simplicity
Thin spiral notebook 