Near 500 words: TW and Sylvia

Episode 21 of The Writer

“Have you let Sylvia go?” TW (aka The Writer) wasn’t sure he was imagining the question until he heard Helen ask a second time, “Have you let Sylvia go?”

It was then that TW remembered the postcards. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then I’m sorry,” Helen said. “I was thinking maybe. But now I realize things aren’t going to work for us. Even casually dating. I’m not up to competing with another woman. I’m much better than that.”

She stood up. “Thanks for the breakfast. I’ve got to go.” Then she was out the front door and gone.

He paid for breakfast, then made the walk back to his house. It was a mile or so but it gave him some time to think. What’s moving on going to look like?

By the time he walked up his driveway, he had decided. The best thing was to keep busy. And the first item of his agenda for keeping busy was finding out more about Sylvia’s postcards.

Standing on the front porch, he opened his mailbox. There was only piece of mail. Another postcard from Sylvia.

Inside he sat down. On one side of the postcard, Sylvia sat beside an older woman dressed in red. The woman’s hair was long and white. The two were surrounded by children. Behind them was a Buddhist temple with blue and white and yellow and green flags flying above them.

On the other side was Sylvia’s short message: “The end of the rainbow. Shangri-la at last. Sylvia.” Then the ancient text below her signature.

As he looked at the  photograph of a smiling Sylvia, shivers shot up and down his spine. Then a calm came over him.

He sat the card down on the table, then pulled the box down from the hall closet. He opened the lid of the box. And the postcards were not there.

He searched through the other things in the box. Everything was the way he had left it. With two exceptions. Sylvia’s carvings of the robin and butterfly and the mustang.

He dumped everything in the box onto the carpet and rifled through the ingredients a second time. Nothing. Nada. The missing postcards and carvings were gone.

He sat staring at the items on the floor, then at the empty box, struggling to think what might have happened to them. He started questioning if he had put them back in the box. After several minutes of doubt, he was sure. They had gone back in the box.

He remembered his appointment with Dr. Christine Baxter. It had been for ten a.m. that morning. He looked at his watch. Two p.m. Maybe he could still catch her.

He grabbed the postcard and out the door he went. Thirty minutes later he pulled up into the parking lot for the social sciences and language disciplines. He locked his car and headed inside the white stone building and up the stairs to the third floor and Dr. Baxter’s office. He found her office and knocked on the door, then opened the door.

At her desk sat a pale, thin woman stooped over a text behind a wall of papers and books.

TW knocked again on the door and the woman looked up.

“Dr. Baxter? Dr. Christine Baxter?”

She slipped off her glasses and looked up. “Yes,” she said, her voice sounding like music.

micropoem for the day: photography

I love photography books. I can go to the library or the bookstore and spend hours on top of hours there. And that’s just with one book. The photographs visually take me to another place, another time. Recently I came across a photography book, The Atlas of Beauty. A young woman from Bucharest, Romania travels the world, taking photographs of women of all ages.

Many from India. There are women from China. Women from Afghanistan. Russian women. There are five hundred of these women in the book. And they are not models or actresses. They are street vendors and students, floral designers and weavers. They are women, just going about their day-to-days, their lives quite ordinary. Her concept is that women try to beautify what is already beautiful. Women are beautiful just the way they are.

The photographer
takes pictures, snap, snap, snap,
then perfection.

haiku for the day: parking lots

It is interesting to stroll through a parking lot. As I pass these cars, I try to imagine what history they have. And if they have passed lives. Cars are not as interesting as back in way back when cars had unique designs. Big fins as if they were sharks or engines so hot they might would explode or hubcaps that were so cool that the car wearing them was the coolest. Or the ginchiest as Kooky used to say. Wonder what he or the Fonz would say about today’s cars.

cars parked in the lot
rows and rows and rows of them
waiting to go home

Uncle Bardie’s Movie of the Week searches for happiness

UNCLE BARDIE’S MOVIE OF THE WEEK begins this week at Uncle Bardie’s Stories & Such. You see, Uncle Bardie loves movies.almost as much as he loves writing, books and music. And when Uncle Bardie loves something that much he wants to share.

Once a week on Monday, Uncle Bardie shares a movie with his Readers he gives a big two thumbs up. It will simply be a short excerpt or a trailer. Uncle Bardie might even throw in a reflection on the movie. If so, it will make an appearance below the video. So pop some popcorn and give yourself a treat. This week’s movie is

What do you think happiness is?

A Friday Extra: 15 Bloggers on WordPress

To all my blogging friends.

Fifteen bloggers on WordPress
Board a bus to go out west
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some are Irish, some Australian
Some from Merry Olde England
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some live in the U S of A
Or the Great White North of Canada, eh
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some have dogs, some have cats
Some are bald, some wear hats
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some are young, some are aged
Some play golf, some play games
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Some do dance, some rock out
Some take selfies, some do not
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

On the bus they go travelling
Down the road as its unraveling
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

After a skip, jump and a hop
On a llama farm they stop
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

They unload all their best stuff
For a picky nick off the cuff
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Lots of food and drink they share
Some drink ale, some drink beer
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

They laugh, sing, and they dance
Here comes a battalion of ants
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

Before you can count to ten
Bloggers on the bus waving
Yo ho ho and a bag of words

So it’s fifteen bloggers on WordPress
Where they’re going is anybody’s guess
Yo ho ho and a bag of words.