The Queen’s ill words

The waves crashed on the rocks that encircle the small bay. The night was upon them, and so was her moment.

“Where?” She asked in a commanding voice.

His was graspy and ancient, “Write it in the sand near the water’s edge.”

She took out her sword, walked towards the edge where the water would touch the sand when the tide came and wrote: Fall from grace into the hands of your enemies, be humiliated and in darkness suffer, Melvin, Lord of the West, king of the Eaglekin.

“Done, lets go.”

“You can’t leave! You must be present when the sea swallows the words or they’ll become your curse. It’ll be an insult to the goddess and she is never mercifull.”

An inconvinent, her enemies where close and she was loosing the war. Dark magic was her only chance, one filled with danger.

Slowly the tide came closer to her words and her patience grew smaller, but she needed to wait. She thought of the humiliation she would put him throu, pull the feathers from his head one by one. A discrace for an Eaglekin. For her kin, the Graykin, would be to be pintch with a thorn of a red rose; it’s venom would run through her white blood and change its color to red and her skin would turn pinkish as that of a Humankin. A most painful humiliation, but imposible for she exterminated them all.

The sea elegantly swang back and forth as if toying with her. She watched it closely, thinking the goddess might call upon it and retreat it. There was no reason for it. The ill words would crush Melvin and she will have once more around her long grayish neck the amulet, The claw of their queen, Melvin’s dead wife, to control the Eaglekin.

The foam almost touched the words and retreated quickly. The shamman made a long sharp sound, she looked back. A lance pierced his chest, he fell on the sand. She looked at the forest behind her and saw nothing.

As she turned around to watch the words, Melvin stood in front of her, his head golden plumage sparkling under the moonlight. His deep brown eyes filled with rage, his square jaw tensed. He grabbed her by the neck, threw her to the air. As she fell, he grab her with his tallons and flew to a near rocky point where he dropped her. Inmediatly she looked for the beach where her words were written, but Melvin grab and pulled her towards his face.

In her heart she felt the touch of darkness, a whispper of her words in her ear were carried by the soft salty breeze. Melvin looked pleased, “This is your fall from grace, Your Highness, and my lover awaits you at the bottom of the sea, where you shall live in darkness for all eternity. But first, a gift from a goddess worthy of a queen.” And in his hand he held a red rose.

This story is part of a prompt from Write on Edge. Go check it out.

El uso de una trenza

Su cabello dorado lacio y sedoso fue dividido en tres mechones, que por consiguiente fueron sobre puestos el uno sobre el otro una y otra vez, hasta que una trenza que le llegaba a los pies fue construida y en su terminal fueron entrelazados un conjunto de doradas navajas triangulares. Se puso en pie y caminó hacia él, quien no le miraba a los ojos por que no solo ella era una amazona, era la reina, y un varón nunca les mira a los ojos, pero los de él solo miraban la trenza en su mano derecha. Con sudor en su frente y el rostro pálido no hizo mas que quitarse la camisa y tornarse hacia la pared donde sus manos fueron amarradas y en su espalda eran visibles las cicatrices delineadas la una sobre la otra. La amazona se acercó y alzó el brazo con el que sujetaba la trenza, él apretó fuertemente las sogas a la espera del metal trenzado que pintaría nuevos trazos carmesí.

Las sirenas no existen de Susi de la Torre

¿Quién no cree en sirenas? Al menos para esos que trabajamos en la fantasía y la ficción, sin dejar atrás a los pequeños de nuestras vidas, las mitológicas sirenas viven en nuestra imaginación.  Todos conocemos el famoso cuento de hadas de Hans Christian Andersen titulado La Sirenita, y la versión de Disney ‘The little Mermaid’. El de Andersen lo leí cuando era una adolescente y lo encontré fascinante, la versión de Disney no se comparó en lo absoluto al original y su trágico final.

Las sirenas no existen es un cuento corto por Susi de la Torre para su blog Durmiendo en una papelera. Susi se adentra a la psiquis de una tripulación que pasa por una de las necesidades primordiales del hombre, donde la idea de la sobre vivencia late en sus mentes mientras se repiten “las sirenas no existen”.

En un viaje visual nos lleva Susi de la Torre para hacernos sentir que estamos allí entre las olas del mar, la penumbra de la tripulación y la sirena frente a ellos.

Les invito a pasar por Durmiendo en una papelera para que disfruten del cuento corto Las sirenas no existen.

Looking inside my manhole

            What would my manhole look like? Would it be surrounded by concrete or green soft grass?  Would it be rusty, deep black or gray?  Is it small or big, round or square?  But what’s inside my manhole?  What am I hiding underneath it? 

            There are so many questions for something so simple.  The truth is that I am making all these questions in order not to look inside my manhole.  Is in front of me and I have no desire to look upon it, for I don’t wish to pull its top.  I do not want to know what monsters or strange beings will crawl out of it.  I fear a shadow is residing inside that manhole and that it will consume me if I let it out.  It should stay there!

           But wait!  What if it just goes away?  What if this shadow, cloaked in a purple fear, leaves when I free it from the prison I have kept it all these years?  It’s a chance I have to take.  I will do it!  I will open that manhole and let it be free.  I will let it be transformed into hope.  For in the shadows of my fears my hope has become a black sad being.  Kept from the light inside a manhole I created for it.  I will let it be free so it can grow by my side.  I will let it transform me into a new person with out fears and with new hopes and let it teach me to be brave. 

            I open the manhole with a little difficulty for it is a small one.  Put the iron oval top aside and waited for the shadow to come out.  It is a little afraid to come out for the rays of the sun are too bright and its eyes are accustomed to the darkness.  After a while it came out and stood in front of me looking straight to my eyes.  Its eyes were as black as the night as its hole body was.  Looking at it more closely I realize it was me. 

            We stood there in front of each other waiting for words to be spoken.  But all that came out was a tear drop from my eyes and a smile from the shadows lips.


This short story was made for an excersise for Soul Food Café



Güarionex, the steed who took me to the Hermitage

There is a strange thing about horses I do not understand. There are very mysterious and if you don’t see my point, just look at them straight in their eyes. Their eyes have stories to tell, but since they can’t speak they are silent. Still some creatures can speak to them and hear their stories and transmit them to others like me. They are called the Horse Whisperers, a rare species among humans. One of them introduced me to Güarionex, my golden steed, the one who will take me to the Hermitage, a place wheremy inner writer can be in solitude.

I felt scared as I approached Güarionex for I have always been afraid of horses. If they don’t trust you there is much that can happen. I looked deep into his black eyes at the same time he stared at mine. A moment of eternity passed between us while we gaze upon each other reading our souls.

Suddenly he made a nod and I came out of the trance. “He will let you ride him”, said the Horse Whisperer. I smiled for what I saw in his eyes was a story so extraordinary it was both uplifting and inspiring. This horse was no ordinary steed, he was a warrior amongst his kin who was the companion fo legendary warriors. I felt unworthy of such an honor of being able to ride him.

“We must go know, is getting late”, the Horse Whisperer added as he climbed up his white horse. “The trail is long, but inspiring. Let Güarionex feel the road and do not be scared for he will take good care of you. He has seen something special in you.”

“Why you say that?” I asked.

“He is letting you ride him. Last time he let someone ride him was a century ago by a great king of kings.”

“Maybe his bored and want to feel the road under his hooves.”

“No. He saw something in you, so do not think of yourself as entertainment for him. He knows when someone is worthy.”

I look at Güarionex once more wanting to ask him what he saw in me, but as I gaze upon him I felt a warm feeling inside my heart that took my fears away. I smiled, he nodded.

I climb on to his saddle and waited for the Horse Whisperer to tell me what to do. He just said, “Hold on and seat tight, is a bumpy ride.” Suddenly the horses started galoping fast. Tightly I hold on to the rope in order to slow him down, but Güarionex did not give in.

“Loose him up!”, the Horse Whisperer shouted.

I did not want to do that. A chill went up my spine as the only thing I could do was hold on. I got closer to his neck trying not to fall down for I knew it was going to hurt a lot if I fell.

“You have to let go!” The Horse Whisperer shouted again.

I looked at him not understanding what he said. I was really scared, the wind blowing hard at my face. The road passed fast underneath us as Güarionex rode faster and faster each passing second. The valley was hard to admire at that pace. Everything was a blur because I could not distinguish one color from the other, a wild flower from the grass. The only steady things were the sky above and the mountains beyond. They looked as if they were spectators looking down on us, not wanting to miss the action that went on in the valley beneath them.

The Horse Whisperer’s words echoed in my mind as I tried to understand their meaning. “Let go,” I said to myself. “Just let go,” as I said that my hands relaxed their grip and loosened the rope on Güarionex. A sense of freedom revolved around me and confidence took over my soul. It felt great! I let go of my fears and enjoyed the ride letting Güarionex ride faster than before and trusting myself to him.

A rush of adrenaline flew thru my veins as the wind in my face felt exhilarating. Then it came out of my mouth like it had been there all my life trying to get out, but never had the chance. A loud scream, yes I screamed so hard it was heard throughout the valley as we rode fast through its green pastures.

The Horse Whisperer laugh and I joined him. “Oh, this is awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Every time, every time,” he repeated with a huge smile.

“Can he go like this for a long time?” I asked out loud.

“A little longer!” He answered.

“Well then, let’s have a race!” As I said that I let out a “Hia!” and Güarionex went even faster. It was a glorious experience that uplifted my spirits. The Horse Whisperer caught us in seconds and he pointed to a group of trees for us to stop and for the horses to rest.

We stopped at the chosen spot and when I got down Güarionex caressed me with his face. I smiled and said to him, “Thank you, too.” I kissed him in his forehead and hugged him. We stayed there under the covers of the tree for an hour eating and laughing. The Horse Whisperer told me of his craft and talents, of his family and how he was chosen to be a horse whisperer. He explained that they choose a name that only the horse appointed to him must know, but I could call him Rob. He was taught at the University of Centaurs by one of the legendary centaurs of old. Playing wiht a leaf grass on his hand, he explained that the centaurs are the only creatures capable of teaching that craft, for after all they are half horses.

The road was waiting for us and we climbed up on our horses, this time, for we were closer to the Hermitage as we covered most of the road in our ride, we took it slow. I wanted to enjoy the sites as we past beautiful trees and enchanting roads. Soon enough the sanctuary of the Hermitage was visible in the distance. It look beautiful, I smiled as I saw it. I was finally there and my heart was full of joy to gaze upon it.

“When we get there I will attend to the horses. You go in and relax and enjoy your stay. It’s a good place for meditation so take advantage of your time.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you when your party are ready to live.”

“Thanks for the wonderful trip!”

“Don’t thank me, thank him,” Rob, the Horse Whisperer, said pointing to Güarionex.

I smile and gave Güarionex a pad on his mane. We entered the Hermitage and left the traveled road behind.


Beyond Reach

“It’s only a mirage.  It’s only a mirage!” -he repeated to himself.

Oscar had just woken up and saw something awful in front of him.  There was a body being consumed by vultures lying on the sandy floor of the scorching desert.  He looked harder at the corpse for it looked very familiar.  He felt a chill all over his body.  Oscar took a step back horrified and gagging.

He closed his eyes and he began to cry desperately, but no tears came.  A sudden strong wind blew over him spreading sand everywhere.  Oscar turned away and covered his face with his hands.  Then it stopped.  He stood up and looked towards the place the vultures where devouring the body, and there was nothing. 

“It was a mirage,”- he said in a hopeless way.

He walked in search for some source of water to survive, and as he did, he felt lighter. But at the same time, the desert kept getting unbearably hot. Oscar walked for endless miles gradually feeling lighter, but hotter at the same time.  He could not understand what was happening, but kept going refusing to loose hope.  Suddenly, in the distance he saw what he was looking for, an oasis.  Oscar hesitated not knowing if it was an illusion or reality. 

“What if?”- Oscar wished.

Then he got a rush of excitement. “This most be it, I know it,”- he was determined not to stand there a second more guessing himself, for his life depended on it.  So he ran as fast as he could, looking straight to the oasis just in case it was a pigment of his imagination. 

When he reached the oasis, Oscar dropped to his knees.  The water looked cool and refreshing.  Oscar submerged his hands in the water, but it went straight trough them and he noticed they were not even wet. He tried again just in case he was hallucinating, but got the same results as the first time.  Oscar freaked out backing away from the water. 

“What’s happening?”- he said out loud, putting his hands on top of his head.

Oscar felt dizzy and lost, and couldn’t understand what he was experiencing.  Then he heard the squeak of a bird. He looked at the sky where a bird was passing by in an ode kind of way. A terrible thought came to his mind and he remembered an unbearable scene. The birds he saw before where really consuming a body and it was his own. 

“That could mean only one thing.  I am dead!”- He realized perplexed.  “It can’t be,”- he argued with himself. Oscar remembered blacking out, and when he regained consciousness he saw the birds feasting upon his flesh.  The wind that blew strongly afterwards covered his cadaver, saving it from the hungry vultures.  Oscar fell to the ground numb.

“I am a ghost wandering the sandy desert,”- said bewildered. He got up and looked once again at the water with sadness.  “How could it be that I can’t drink water, but still feel the unbearable heat of the sun and the thirst in my mouth?  If I am a ghost, I should feel nothing at all.”

These words made him very nervous, and looked around in panic.  He felt hotter! Oscar backed away from the oasis, always in the look out.  He heard cynical laughter from far away getting closer to him.  When he closed his eyes, a sudden burst of heat surrounded him. 

“Now I understand why the water was out of my reach,”- Oscar said crying, while he heard the sarcastic laughs right beside him, realizing his eternal fate.

The denied goodbyes

ON the eve of a special person’s birthday, I remember what has been denied by the Lords of Time. This is something I don’t experience alone, for many have pass through it too. A final goodbye is considered as a way of healing and a chance to move forward without regrets. In this lifetime of mine, that only covers three decades and three years; I have been denied of some important and needed goodbyes. And the question always lingers near, what if?

In August 22, 2005, I had the chance of being part of a creative writing online retreat on a marvelous place called Soul Food Café, and made a journey to the Island of Ancestors. In this exercise I got a chance to say goodbye, more of a farewell, to someone I love dearly. This piece is for those that I love and have been denied my last goodbye. My grandfather, for whom this piece was first created; my loving grandmother, I know you waited for him those three months you laid on that bed, that sacrifice will never be forgotten; my dear brother, who last time we saw each other we laughed, who I see through the round dark brown eyes of my son, to you I would love to say happy birthday. Even though they him and abuelita have been gone for almost four years, I never will forget their love.


Enjoy this story, warning, grab a tissue. Read you soon, my friend, and don’t forget: Always say I love you to someone special. Love you!


Journey to the Island of Ancestors

The meditation room in the hermitage gave me enough time to get in tune with myself and my soul. It truly was a peaceful experience and at this point I’m waiting for more. I think of myself as a complete unit- mind, spirit, body and soul –and that all of them are getting to a state, were each can live in peace with one another. Especially my mind, it is always in the clouds and not where it belongs, but still I love when it takes me to places I never been or want to be.

There was in front of my room door a piece of paper lying in the floor. I pick it up and opened it. The journey was going to take me now to another place, this time an island; but for what it’s called it seems this is not a regular island. You see it is called The Island of Ancestors. A chill ran down my spine for no reason I can explain. I figure it this will be an experience I will never forget. If it was an island of ancestors, maybe I might find great philosophers of old, like Aristotle or maybe Pluto. Who knows!

I went to the stables to see Güarionex whom was waiting for me and was ready, Rob, the Horse Whisperer, was holding him. When Güarionex saw me, he got much exited moving his head up and down. I smiled and went to him immediately giving him a kiss on his forehead. He made a sound with his nose that tickled my neck. The Horse Whisperer climbed his horse and I climbed Güarionex. We set out as we did the first time we met going as fast as the wind, like we were on a race against it. It was really lots of fun.

As we slowed down Rob told me a thing or two about the island. He explained that weird things happen to those who visited it. Some come out full of joy, others are traumatized by the experience. None are allowed to tell what happened there to them, for that will decrease the curiosity in people and travelers alike who want to visit the island. But it seems it is a most popular place for the waiting list is long. Only especial invitations are granted like the one I had. He instructed me not to pass this opportunity.

“Have you been there?” I asked him curious for he spoke of it as he knew it very well.

“Yes,” he answered looking ahead watching the Island from afar.

“How long was it that you visited it?”

“Many years ago,” his voice sounded sad and his expression changed completely. I wanted to asked, but remember what he had told me of not speaking of the experience gain on that island. I wonder if he was one of those who where traumatized by it. It seems that was not the case, for if it was like that he would not have accompanied me here and would have stayed in the hermitage.

As we approach the coast a ferry was visible from the top of the hill we were standing. A beautiful island was visible in the distance. It was all covered with nature and looked as an emerald was drop in the middle of the river. I breathed deeply for I was a little nervous for I didn’t know what to expect.

We went down the hill and got closer to the port. A woman was waiving her hand to us and we approached her. She was very happy and a little weird I might add. Well this woman was not a woman and you could see that after getting closer to her. Her skin was covered with scales, green ones and she had no ears. Her hands and feet were a strange mix of fingers and fins. Her arms were like those of a human being, but she had no nose and her mouth was of a round shape like those of a fish. When we got down of our horses and stood in front of her I smiled slightly. Rude of me, of course, but I was perplexed with what I saw. To think I should expect to encounter everything in this journey.

Suddenly, the fish-woman opened her arms wide and went to Rob who was doing the same thing. They both grab their hands up high and hit their foreheads. Then they laughed hard.

“It is good to see you again, Rob,” the fish-woman said, but it sounded more as if she was underwater than in land.

“It is good to be here, Trucha. I’m here to take her to the Island of Ancestors.”

Trucha turned to me and did the same as before. Probably that was the way she greeted people so I did the same. The hit in the forehead was not that hard and it was a cool way of salutation, for you feel like you are under water for an instant. Then just like that you feel you are back on land.

“I have been expecting you, my dear. You may leave the horses here, they will be taken to a place where they can relax and stretch their legs. Come on board for everything is ready for you, but we have to wait until nightfall. It’s the best way to navigate for the guardian of the Island is sleeping. He gets a little cranky during the day for the spirits are sleeping and he doesn’t want anybody disturbing them,” Trucha said much exited.

We got on board the ferry and ate on the deck that had been prepared with a dining area. We chat, drank and laughed for hours until the stars appeared. That’s when Trucha got up and said to me, “It is time. You may wait here while I navigate.”

Trucha stood up from the table, then she went up some metal stairs and got into the cabin on the second floor of the ferry were the control room was. I stood up and walked towards the rail as I admired the elegant night covering us completely. The stars looked like tiny diamonds sparkling elegantly. The breeze was soothing but it carried a strange smell that was sweet. Maybe it came from the island, were flowers bloom at night and perfumed everything around them like a special gift for those who dare to go to the island.

The journey on water took approximately fifteen minutes and the island was very visible indeed. A port could be seen getting nearer as we got closer. It was lighted by torches that made visible the beginning of it for the ferry fish-woman to see her way to it. When we got to the port Trucha came to me, as I was very nervous for the time had come for me to live and start my journey into the depths of the Island of Ancestors, and said, “We will wait for you here until you come back, we cannot go any further. Follow the torches until you find an apple groove. There is a path that goes inside the groove, take it. Keep walking forward; do not take any other paths, only the one that goes between the apples trees. If you do take another path you will be lost. When you reach the end of the groove you will find a mound and there a door, you must go through it. The rest is up to you.”

“What will happen if I take another path?”

“The ancestors will claim you. I do not need to say more.”

“Very well, off I go.”

I got down from the ferry and walked to the path as instructed, always looking at the trail beneath my feet. I didn’t want to get lost and be claimed by the Ancestors of the Island. Passing the apple groove I took one apple to eat it as I walked. At the end of it I saw the mound and in it the door. Two large torches lighted the way, I made my way through.

The passage was narrow and dim, it went downward. At the end of it I saw a light like that of a fire. I hurried my pace so I could find out what was in that room at the end of the corridor. Once there, in front of a great fire, sitting on an armchair there was a person covered with a black hood. Slowly I got near the figure, once in front of it I sat down on a marble bench. I waited for him or her to say a word, but nothing happen. Nervousness ran my whole body as I stared at the person in dismay not knowing what to do. My head was trying to understand the situation, but it was too complicated for it had never been in this kind of situation before.

Then, the person’s hands removed the hood and there I was looking at his face. My jaw dropped as I was astonished and out of breath. For in front of me was a man that still is the love of my life. The person that even thou passed away many years ago, still had a special place in my heart. Tear drops came from my eyes as they could not believe what they were seeing.

It was inevitable, an explosion of sentiments took over me completely. He approached me and hugged me tight as he used to do when I was a little girl. His smell was already gone from my memory and I could not remember it as I smelled him when he got closer. I cried more and more trying to hold on and didn’t want to let go of his grip. I was not letting go ever again.

When he died the only person he wanted to see was me, but the doctors at the hospital did not grant his last wish for I was a little girl and wasn’t allowed to go to the rooms. I knew he was gone for his sister, my great-aunt, came down crying inconsolable. But it did not hit me until my mother explained to me what happened. Then and there I knew the Lords of Time had denied me of a moment that was mine, of a wish that might have changed my life and my healing process. Now that I was there holding him tight no one was going to deny me of that moment.

“I have missed you so much!” I sob.

“I know.” He said.

“Grandpa, I wish so much you could still be alive. Sometimes I think life would have turned so different for me if you just been there. I know I would have been someone else with you by my side.”

“But think of all the things you would have lost if our story was written differently. Think of my great-granddaughter. She reminds me of you so much and it made me so proud that you thought of me when naming her.”

I laughed full of joy and looked at his blue eyes. They were as I used to remember.

“Well,” he said, “you are here to ask me a question. What would that question be?”

“I just want to talk a little longer. I don’t what to ask questions right know. Can we just talk, please?”

“You see, mi reina, we will have time for that in another life. When God sends for you I will be waiting at the entrance to greet you and forever be together. Know we have but little time to spend and I want to answer whatever question you have for me.”

“Then I shall stay here with you. So we could have an eternity know and not later!” I exclaimed crying.

My grandfather dried my tears and his hand felt soft. Looking at me straight in the eyes he said, “I can’t let you do that. There is too much at stake. Besides you are needed back there, Versaly needs her mother and our family too. Think of your grandmother that loves you as much as I do. Your mother, your husband and of your brother that even thou he sometimes looks as there is no hope for him there still is. But you must be there and as always be strong for them.”

He kissed my forehead gently and I finally stopped crying understanding that my time with him was limited. I grab his hands tight and smiled once again not knowing what to ask.

“I have always asked myself if you were proud of me. Of what I have become and what I wanted in life. You have always been in my thoughts when I think of my life. What would you say or do or advice?”

“There is no doubt that I have always been proud of everything you have accomplished in life and of what you want of it. I know sometimes you feel alone and without guidance, but I’m always there for you. Look for me inside your heart and feel the warmth of my arms hugging you whenever you feel alone and lost.”

We both smiled and I kissed his hand. The fire dimmed a little and my grandfather looked at it and said, “Time is running out. Know I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” I ask curiously.

“Will you promise me to take care of yourself and our family?”


“Then, please heal your heart of my loss. Do not cry for me with sadness, but with joy for I am in a better place know. A place you will be when your time comes. So no sad faces only happy ones, ok.”

“I promise.” As I said that, we hugged for a few minutes and I felt in peace with myself as I accomplished one of my most desired dreams. To see him one more time before living my life to the place he is now.

“I have a gift for you grandpa. It’s a lock of Versaly’s hair from when she was a baby, I always carry it with me to feel her closer. I want you to have it so you could have a little of her until you can finally meet her.”

“Thank you. I see her every day you know, even thou is from afar I’m always watching over her and praying for her. Here’s something for you too. I think someone lost this and couldn’t find it.”

He opened his hand and inside it was a small image cover in plastic of the Sacred Heart he used to wear every day. It was lost when my brother and I argued about who should have it. My heart rejoiced when I saw it for I thought it was lost forever. He had taken it to guard it and to give it back when the time was right.

“This means so much to me. I’m just sad I have to go.”

“Me too, but we’ll see each other again and spend eternity together.”

“We’ll do that; I will hold you to it.”

We hugged me again and he gave me his blessing. My heart, my soul and my spirit felt like crying again, but I hold it back. I had gained what once was denied to me, a final goodbye and a farewell. That moment right there could never be replaced.

So I got up and walked away only looking back once to see him smiling and throwing a kiss to me saying, “This is for your grandma, but don’t tell her is from me. Just give it to her.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walked away feeling the tears come down my cheeks. I kept walking toward the port just looking at the relic my grandpa had given me. When I looked up I saw Rob, the Horse Whisperer, waiting for me at the port smiling happy to see me. I stopped to look back to the trail that had given me such an immense gift hoping to see a final glimpse of him. But he wasn’t there. Smiling joyfully and content I turned back to Rob and climbed aboard the ferry.

Video de ‘Los hijos de Oshmdwa’ / Trailer ‘Oshmdwa’s Children’

English version below

Los hijos de Oshmdwa” es una historia de fantasía que he retomado del pasado y con la que deseo entretenerles al estilo de capítulos por entrega (por partes) cada dos semanas, por supuesto si me es posible. Esta llega a Mink el 9 de febrero de 2011. Aquí les hago entrega, con un mes de anticipación, de lo que pueden encontrar de la trama de esta historia de fantasía en un corto video que he realizado para ustedes. Espero lo disfruten y que esperen con ansias a “Los hijos de Oshmdwa”.



Oshmdwa’s Children” is a fantasy story that I have retaken from the past and with it I wish to entretain you in the style of delivering a section of a chapter every two weeks, of course if posible. It will arrive at Mink on Febuary 9, 2011. Here I deliver, with a month of anticipation, what you can find of the plot  of this story in a short trailer that I have made for you. Hope you enjoy it and wait for the arrival of “Oshmdwa’s Children”.

“A frozen tear”



I just enjoyed reading this poem by William Thomas, it is deep and touches the core of the soul. Enjoy and hope you think in this season of love of those who spend it in solitude.

A Frozen Tear

By William Thomas©

Winter in Kodiak, a time of little light.
The snow brightens the ground and the stars light up the night.
A cluster of Spruce sag deep, a drift in front of my car.
My heart weighs heavy. Thoughts of relatives afar.
A blustery wind blows, north then south.
A cold winter thirst, warm java for my mouth.
A homeless man sleeps, all bundled in clothes.
His heart deep with thoughts of past Christmas woes.
A handshake, a smile, a sip of my coffee.
A friend in waiting, I became to he.
Some food from the shelter, a warm place to rest.
His life for the moment, felt happy and blessed.
He told me the stories of days long ago.
My full attention, he required, to him I happily bestowed.
A veteran of the war, a father of four.
A long distance call seemed to matter no more.
The blanket of stars and the snow under his feet,
only brought back memories of a scar so deep.
A story from my life, I understood his loss.
To spend Christmas without family, there’s no greater cost.
One more handshake. A “man-hug” goodbye.
His face looked of worry, wondered if I would be back tonight.
A job in Kodiak sometimes is so rare.
But I am happy to tell you, where I work is here.
A smile, a thought, the lending of an ear.
A thousand times more helpful than a frozen tear.

Stories, one of fun and the other of love

Short Funny Christmas Story 

Just before Christmas, an honest politician, a generous lawyer and Santa Claus got into the lift (elevator) at the Ritz Hotel in London. As the lift travelled from the 5th floor down to the ground level, one-by-one they noticed a £50 note lying on the lift’s floor.

Which one picked up the £50 note, and handed it in at reception?

Santa of course, the other two don’t actually exist!

Christmas is for love

Author unknown

Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas.

Mark was an 11 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister’s son. She never failed to remind young Mark, if it hadn’t been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. Still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child.

I had not noticed Mark particularly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt’s anger, I later found) to help me straighten up the room. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him.

As Christmas drew near however, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, “Did you really miss me?”

I explained how he had been my best helper. “I was making you a surprise,” he whispered confidentially. “It’s for Christmas.” With that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn’t stay after school any more after that.

Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. “I have your present,” he said timidly when I looked up. “I hope you like it.” He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box.

“Its beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it?” I asked opening the top to look inside. ”

“Oh you can’t see what’s in it,” He replied, “and you can’t touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you’re all alone.”

I gazed into the empty box. “What is it Mark,” I asked gently, “that will make me feel so good?” “It’s love,” he whispered softly, “and mother always said it’s best when you give it away.” And he turned and quietly left the room.

So now I keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love in it.

Yes, Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous gifts. But mostly, Christmas is for love.

The “W” in Christmas                                                      
Last December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.   I had cut back on nonessential obligations – extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.       
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter Pageant.”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher.  She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.  All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.  Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. 
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early,  found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw  several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song. Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun, commercial    entertainment – songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.

So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was slightly taken aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.  Those in the front row- center stage – held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up the  letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, “Christmas Love.” 

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside down –  totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.  The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.  Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.  A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our  festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: 

C H R I S T   W A S   L O V E”  
And, I believe, He still is.