What lies beneath the cool green waters

of Riversleigh River?

Is it a face? Was that a hand reaching up for me as I looked down

into the waters that gently reached the riverbank

and rested there for a moment

before being pulled back out again?

I peered into the water and my face peered back

questioningly, I decided with annoyance.

Of course nothing lies quietly beneath the waters of Riversleigh River

I told myself sternly.

Its weighted down with rocks.

Big ones.

I should know.

I put them there myself.

( Inspired By The Riversleigh Journey By H.Blakey )

You Have To Wonder About This

My end of the year vintage Victorian Christmas Card roundup- just to start things off I will say this- if these are examples of Christmas cards, I can only wonder why their Halloween greetings were so tame!

This is a Victorian Christmas Card.

It’s odd, slightly macabre and I kind of feel sorry for the guy in the picture because I don’t think this scene is playing out in his favor.

In addition I’m not sure if this is a Christmas greeting or a warning but I am certain that you could use it  as a Halloween card too.

When I see this I can hear a million little sparrows singing

” They’re coming to get you Barbara

So, the person sending this card is saying that they’re sending moths to fly into your eyes and that they will die trying and that in the morning they’ll find you all there- enveloped in blood, moths wings and  the sender’s ever lasting love.

I’m sure this is the kind of card that Dr. Phibes would send, at any rate I know I would.

Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

So there’s a few happy greetings to contemplate as we go into 2019- like we can contemplate where to order these babies for ourselves, am I right?

Anyhoo, have a cool yule guys!


The Cottage On Chestnut Hill

In a small cottage, the kind of small cottage that you can find hidden at the end of roads that you would swear you’ve never noticed but you must have driven by it everyday since forever


roads and cottages surrounded by wild gardens do not just appear  as if by magic out of thin air- isn’t that right?

So, back to my little story.

In my small cottage, surrounded by a wild garden  chocked by weeds with softy downy thistles and tiny pink and purple blossoms I work on my needlepoint near a window with aged cream colored curtains tied back with packing string.

Last week I saw a car drive by and then the car  stopped and rolled back and the driver and I were eye to eye, as it were.

I wasn’t going to stand up, because I was very busy but I decided to because my knee was a little stiff and I wanted a drink of water anyway.

So I stood up and the driver in the car leaned back and then leaned forward and I saw her take off her eyeglasses, clean them and put them back on again.

Then she sat there and then she looked straight ahead and nearly drove into the tree at the side of the road ( a beautiful twisted apple tree that produces the tastiest apples anywhere on Earth ).

” Silly woman, ” I said, wishing just a tiny bit that she had hit the tree or maybe the fence because nothing ever happens on quiet little roads like mine ” you’d think she had seen a ghost or something.”

I guess I had startled her- my windows do need a bit of cleaning because they are a little dusty.

I went to my little kitchen and got myself a glass of water and on the way out I checked my calendar again- because I am so bad with numbers and impossible with keeping track of dates

January 6th, 2019 FULL MOON

I had written in red- with little paw prints  all around the square because I have not only a taste for over sweet apples, needlepoint and gardening.

I have a wolfish sense of humor too.





Her dreams of Olympus

of dwelling among the Gods and Goddesses

ended on a road

where she watches the world race by

from her window

and the indifferent world sounds like a pride of  lions hungrily, passionately

taking down it’s prey.


She keeps her dreams of Olympus


inked in a books with a shaky hand


she leaves beside


many half drunk  glasses of  wine and pictures  of a life

greedily, licentiously,  devoured


a once corpulent

now starving






The Black Envelopes

This year I sent out Christmas cards- something I haven’t done for a few years.

Last year, like the year before I went to the store and pored over boxes of cards and decided that none of them really said ” Merry Christmas ” so I took a pass and skipped it.

Nowadays people send e-cards that sing and dance. How could a bit of paper and ink compare with that? Besides, people talk smack about the cards they get and the newsletters that some people put a lot of work into so I figured, nobody really likes to get old fashioned cards anymore.

But it turns out I wasn’t completely right.

I had to update my address book and decided to send a few cards out and lo and behold  there is a small group of people in my life that were excited about getting actual mail.

At least, I hope that when they got my cards they would not be put off by the little black envelopes they came in and the less then traditional cards that I chose to express my holiday spirit:

This year during the Christmas season I decided to spend time reading Victorian Era ghost stories, I took my big dark dog for walks late in the evening when it was chilly and cemetery quite outside and when we got home I made us a little snack that we both could crunch between our chattering teeth while we sat in living room glowing from the lights around my fireplace and on our Christmas tree.

My cards may have come in little black envelopes and inside those envelopes were pictures of Yule Cats, Yule Lads Krampus and Pere Fouettard and I will admit they are a little odd- but they are just as much of the Christmas tradition as Fruit Cake, Black Friday and Over Eating.

This year’s cards were my way of saying I was part of this big grand tradition- and even though I didn’t celebrate it in a traditional way I think that I had more fun this year then I have had in ages.

Another way of looking at it- my cards weren’t greetings.

They were an invitation.

I wonder if the people I sent them to will answer- in their own and unique way.



Enter Stage Left


Every New Years Eve

I promise to

be myself.

I don’t promise to not get fatter or to organize my closets

or to be more patient, loving and understanding.


Every New Years Eve

when the fireworks go off and people hug their friends

and smooch their lovers

I promise to be myself

but how can I promise to be

something I’ve never been?


Holidailies Prompt: New Years Resolutions

My Letter To Santa


Dear Santa

I have learned that the truly meaningful gifts in life can’t be ordered on-line

or scored at a Mall or Department store

they’re not made by  machines or glued, stitched or assembled by young hands

in factories in cities whose names I can’t pronounce or find on a map.

No Santa, I am older and wiser and I have learned a lot and seen a lot and I understand more.

So this year, on the one night filled with Spirits and Magic and  I am asking for just two things.

An extra hour of darkness and bone chilling cold- the kind of cold that freezes the blood in your veins- or outside of your veins as the case may be.

Thank you Santa-

I am forever your Faithful Servant


Wait…Santa? What the Heck? Damn Spell Check!