By The Lily Pond

Light Motifs II Thursday Inspiration 49-SHARP

Photo A.M. Moscoso

The  two women in brightly colored hiking gear  were walking on a trail through a sunny park named after a Priest.

The Sun was shining in a cloudless sky and it was warm- warm enough for the two of them to break a little sweat but not so warm that they had to break out their water bottles.

They strolled by  a pond full of lily pads and frogs, further down the trail there was another pond where a family of ducks swam in leisurely circles and dog walkers passed by them and smiled wide beautiful smiles.

The dogs.

Not the people.

” I can show you were the monsters live ” she told her friend who’s name is Tabitha.

Tabitha stopped and decided to play along with her friend’s joke. ” No way. No way do monsters live here. It’s to- it just to beautiful for them.”

” Well. There is a lot of room for-” her voice trailed off and she put her hand to her throat.

Tabitha thought that the flush she saw raising up from her friend’s neck to her cheeks was from the heat. She supposed it had gotten to her a little. ” For what? ” she laughed.

Felicity’s face turned red and little beads of sweat popped out on her cheeks.

” Here. Have some water,  you look a little warm.”

Felicity shook her head. ” Oh no. It’s not that. I just feel a little foolish. What a thing for an adult to say. I’m so embarrassed.  I was just being-”

” Fanciful?” Tabitha offered as she started back up the trail.

Felicity let her friend walk a little ahead of her and when Tabitha was a few feet away, Felicity reached behind her back and pulled something off of her belt clip.

Tabitha heard a sharp metal click and guessed Felicity was going to have that drink of water after all.

” Monsters wouldn’t live here. Too many mosquitos and who needs the competition? Felicity asked. ” It is a nice little hike all the same. Like I said, there’s lots of room to pretty much do whatever you want. Anyway,  I could use a snack right now. Is that ok?”

Tabitha was going to answer, in fact she tried to-

but the cut that Felicity  made on the front of Tabitha’ neck from ear to ear after she snuck up behind her, bumping into Tabitha just a little bit as she grabbed the back of her head by her ponytail, made it impossible for her to say anything at all.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso


Every Dog Has His Day

The Monday Peeve 28

Today’s Monday Peeve isn’t my peeve exactly.

It’s what ticks my dog off most of all in the entire world.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Hamish is not put out by things like having to wear ‘the cone of shame’.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

He doesn’t exactly hate it when I make him wear hats- though he probably wishes I wouldn’t make him do it at all for any reason. But I’m the Mom so tough.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

What Hamish hates is my phone- he hates it when it rings, he hates it when I take pictures he hates it when I plug it in next to the couch.


Over the weekend Hamish Macbeth expressed his feelings about my phone:


This is a picture I took Hamish.

When I was done instead of saying ” in ” which was his cue to run into his play area I said ” drop it ” and he jumped up and grabbed my phone ( which he hates with the hatred that could fuel the Sun for a trillion years ) and dropped it.

Into the bushes.

Next to dog poo-which I am sure he very aware was there.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Below is the picture  Hamish Macbeth took.

Did he run off after dropping my phone into the bushes next to the poo?

He did not.

He just sat there looking very pleased with himself.

Photo H. Macbeth

Every dog has his day…just ask Hamish Macbeth.

Photo A.M. Moscoso



RDP Friday – Viral

Violet didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the end of the world; it was  imagining what happened after it was all over that would keep Violet awake at nights.

She’d would be laying there in the dark picturing a dead and lifeless world with a small yellow sun rising in front of a blood red moon while all around her room on tables and in the windows and on their own special tables were dead and dying plants in overpriced planters.

There were no starter plants with tiny little roots floating around in plastic fast food drinking cups in this room. Violet figured it was the least she could do for some poor plant that was bound to die once she got her hands on it.

What she did to plants was nothing compared to what she did to those colorful fish you kept in wine glasses with the half marbles scattered at the bottom glass.

Violet had come in from work one day and found all that was left of her fish were blue and red scales and brown goo sloshing around in the inside of the little glasses.
It was on that day she saw those little corpses floating in the cloudy water she decided it would probably be better if she avoided the live animal route all together.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know any better.

There was the puppy got when she was eight

Santa had brought the puppy in the basket with the red bow tied to the handle and left it by Violet’s bed.

Violet had dragged the cold ‘sleeping puppy’ out to the living room stuck it in front of the Christmas Tree bright and early on Christmas morning and said to her parents, ” It coughed all night, I don’t think it feels well. Can we exchange it? ”

There was the kitten four years later that started to bleed from it’s ears and not to long  after that there was her  baby brother that turned from pink to dark red right in front of Violet’s eyes.

Then she grew up and moved out and started with the plants.

It was like having a bad tooth…your tongue just wants to go to it and poke around. That’s the way Violet was with plants; she just kept buying them or planting seeds and they just kept dying on her.

And Violet kept watching.

So it’s not really a shock that she couldn’t sleep at nights.

And then it got be too much.

One evening Violet’s dying and decomposing plants couldn’t keep her mind off of the little things that nibbled away at her mind during the day so she reached for her TV remote control and when she pushed the ‘on’ button the little black and silver box hummed in her hand and she knew the battery was dead.

She reached over and turned her bedroom light on and then she popped the back panel off of the remote.

Along with plant murders she had rotten luck with batteries too. She had guessed that if she bought batteries from someplace other than ” Dollar Bonanza” (where all the stock was a dollar or less) they might last a bit longer.

She reached into her nightstand drawer for some new batteries when she saw that the battery in the remote control had split at the seam and the acid had started to ooze out and then before it ran off the side of the battery it had hardened and turned to dust.

She dropped the remote on the floor and reached for the little ivy plant that was dying in the planter shaped liked an elephant. She touched one of the leaves and felt it turn to power between her fingers.

Now that was a new one.

Violet reached over and turned off her lamp but she didn’t sleep.

It wasn’t soon after that she stopped sleeping all together.

So instead of sleeping Violet did a lot of thinking; she thought about her dead and dying plants, her puppy and kitten and little brother. She thought about the way no one ever sat next to her on the bus.

Even if her seat was the last open seat and they had to stand.

She remembered the way her own Mother would wipe her hand against her hip after helping Violet brush her hair and the way her Father would hold his hands out to stop Violet from rushing into his arms the way all little kids do.

It was strange, those little gestures that people used to keep Violet away. They were the same gestures Violet saw when someone had a coughing or sneezing fit and the person standing next to them would turn their head or pull in a long deep breath and try not to exhale until they were safely away.

That’s exactly the way people acted when they got to close to Violet.

One morning Violet brushed her teeth and combed her hair and put on a bright yellow t-shirt. Yellow was her favorite color and today she wanted to do something nice for herself.

She walked down to the Lake and watched birds fall from the sky and bees drop from flowers. The trees put up more of a fight. She could hear them creak and groan and she could hear the leaves whither and then curl and crumble right on the branches.

When she got to the lake she put her hand into the water and she watched it thicken and could smell it go bad and then the fish all rose to the surface and tried to jump to land and before they were airborne for more then a second they fell dead back into the water.

Violet got up and walked to a little hill and when she got to the top she sat on a bench and she could see the route she had walked because it was a dead route now and unless you were looking you probably wouldn’t notice the narrow trail of death; but Violet did.

That was it for Violet, this was all she would ever do-she would infect anything unlucky enough to get to close to her and then it would die.

Violet looked at the trail she had walked and saw the dead trees and plants she had passed could see the trees and grass and plants further away start to turn brown and curl and she could smell them turn to dust.

Violet Delaflote was spreading.

Violet walked to the lookout spot next to the Lake she had infected (there was no other way for her to think of it) and she figured she could just walk out and keep walking until the water covered her head.

She couldn’t swim, she had never learned how…not after watching her swimming instructor drown all those years ago. ” She had some kind of Virus, ” her Dad told her ” and when she dove into the water she got sick and couldn’t breathe and she drowned.”
Violet passed the picnic table and walked into the water and she was surprised at how easy this was turning out to be…but what was the alternative?

She was a serial plant killer and she lived alone.

That was Violet’s life.

She kept walking and by the time the water was up to her chest she realized what she was doing…she spun around went under and fought her way back to shore.
When she turned around and looked back at the lake…she covered her face with her hands and screamed until her throat felt raw.

Then she ran.

She ran and ran until she came to the Shopping Mall and she collapsed on a bench outside of the food court.

People were eating and laughing and scowling and living…and when it came down to it Violet decided she wanted to live too. She wanted to eat soft pretzels and drink strawberry lemonade and she wanted to shop and be rude to salespeople…just like everybody else.

That was what Violet wanted, she covered her face with her hands and she cried for the life she would never have.

When it came right down to it Violet decided she might only be a Virus that had somehow disguised itself as a short woman with okay skin and dry hair but she still wanted to live just like anyone else.

She knew though she couldn’t do that like everyone else and Violet knew that was alright.

So she took her hand away from her mouth and nose….
And she sneezed.

Peinture Il noir

I’m participating in Bee’s fun music challenge and each day  in February we have been challenged to find a song with love as part of the theme.

Now, I know that “Paint It Black ” isn’t a love song per se, but it is about obsession which does play a part in love- for some of the population it plays WAY bigger part then for the rest of us.

So I’m going to say it counts.

Ha! How’s that for some mental gymnastics?

Besides, if you hear it in French it’s easy to ignore the fact that this song is about a psycho with a black heart and a love who died under mysterious circumstances.  It sounds pretty and light.

Scary train of thought I know, but that’s me.

PS… the door in this post is mine it was red and then it was painted black.

( cue evil laugh )


Photo A.M. Moscoso

Mr Gale’s Funeral

Fandango’s Friday Flashback-Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of you earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember?

From my achieves- I actually wrote this in February of 2018 but didn’t post it until Halloween of 2018 I named one of the characters after my Aunt Irene. She would have approved.


We met to plan the final details for Mr. Gale’s Funeral in a spot behind the Gale Family home where Mrs. Gale had planted an extensive and lovely garden.

It was the beginning of fall and the leaves had just started to drop from the trees.

” Just treat it like any other traditional  Funeral, ” his wife told me  as we strolled slowly along the garden path. ” Flowers, candles maybe someone can read poem and can you recommend a Minster? I suppose we need one of those.”

I assured her I could see to all of these details.

” I am so glad to hear that Irene, this is such a trying time you know.”

” I do and I’m very glad I could help.”

Mrs. Gale leaned over and whispered into my ear. ” I am curious dear, how it came that you decided to become-” she was at a loss for the word which is not unusual in times like this.

I patted her arm. ” It’s the family business.”

Mrs. Gale  smoothed her hair which had been tussled by the light breeze and then walked over to her husband’s casket and put her gloved hand on it, somewhat cautiously. ” Oh Dear, I almost forgot. Music. Can we have music-”

The thudding and screaming resumed from inside the sealed casket.

” In case he starts up with that again ” sighed the soon to be widow.

Falling Leaves


Love Is In Da Blog 2020 Day 27: Find a song about love in autumn & Prompt for Day 28

Before he passed away my friend Ron and I were talking about music ( we were at a Mardri Gras Party  and music and food were the main topics of conversation )

He asked me who a few of my favorite bands were and I mentioned Glenn Miller- hands down. I was also a fan of the Andrew Sisters.

Ron’s face lit up- ” You know Glenn Miller’s music? ”

Absolutely I said, I grew up with Swing Music because of my Grandparents.

They not only played it on the radio and they played the albums, they also taught me to sing a bunch of cool songs from the 1920’s  and 1940’s and to this day I use sayings like  ‘ the Cat’s Pajama’s, Bee’s Knees, Moxy and Snap your cap in everyday conversation.

Back to me and Ron.

Ron was a young man in the 1940’s and I wasn’t born until 1964- but in that moment when we started to talk about music we were on the same page and it was the Cat’s Pajamas.

It’s a good memory, a fun one.

So here’s my pick  for Love Is In Da Blog 2020 Day 27-

Glenn Miller’s Falling Leaves.

Miss you Ron O.


Your friend,