shhh uhhhh I mean ahh and to think, bad writing and grammar drive me crazy. AND I TEACH WRITING FOR GOODNESS SAKE AHHHH

after all this time.... in th midst of a really painful migraine where I'm typing most of this with my eyes closed (haha I mean seriously I should leave it for you as only auto correct intended that would be awesome) anyway where was I oh yes.. only at this incomvoeniwnrnv hHaha ok I left that one for ya, only at this inconvenient mime... Iran ugh i mean time seruov seriously mauby I cannot post on a IPod with aigraobe.* shhh shah IpeAn I mean ahhhhhjhh not duh

*iPod with a migraine
**to be clear, the migraine doesn't have a mountains MIGRAINE -- I do
***lol like that cleared things up!! ha I intended on writing that it's not my iPod who has the migraine, it's me. but I believe sfter all of this nonsense that's become screamingly cleat CLEAR. please font DON'T scream.

oh how this had
has become this is reductions reduce rediculus I just wanted to post some haiku thata I just wrogtw wrote about japan because jahoa -- how appropriate of course bit I scribbled them on post it notes and forget this technology inhibit wow I can't even type u fi
followed by hugging hah ah lala I was trying to put a lot of h's like in ahhhh but with more and I either get inhibit or hugging and now this simple post of two haiku for japan hasbecome a parhetic n obvious display of both my inability to type on th iPod tharen
the Algeria n so kindly gave to me saxonrj six months ago but i still cant do it and also tellse me that Persians during my migraine days I should stick to wroth writing on poster
postits with pencil. oh haha and by persians -imeanto write perhaps ....:for goodness saké [oh ya but that lady lazy LAST one there, my friends, that was alll mine, no credit to autocorrect on that one for goodness---]

ok I mist UST UH MUST dash --

die DUE to technical difficulties..mograkinograine ie. migraine had has seen significant increase.

haik u late
r

x c

the old it was a dark and stormy night line

at the newspaper meeting last friday (before halloween), dressed in costumes, i had the kids use their stormy creativity on the old "it was a dark and stormy night..." line, taking it places it had never been... 


DO something with it, i told them, like, something, different, from a noise scratching at the window etc... i knew they were capable (and frankly, they knew it too.)


the next hour and a half that followed was full of poems, dark 'n stormy stories, haiku, photo shoots, and an abundance of pleading moments: can i pleeeeaaaase read you what i just wrote?? can i read this out loud? can i share just one more?!!! 


... somehow, a few quiet gems were left unseen, tucked in the stack of pages to photocopy. it wasn't until later when i was making copies that i found this one amongst the others in the stack, written by my dearest abby. and standing there in the bright and empty copy room... i read abby's dark 'n stormy adaptation.

It was a dark and Stormy night .........

a young couple danced 

under the dim light of the moon as 

it was snowing. 

The Christmas Spirit 

was just around the corner, 

but not one Christmas tree was up.

10/29/10 by abby

all alone with a huge grin, i shook my head at the page saying, ABBY! abby abby abby you got it-- this is-- that's it abby, i knew, you knew... exactly. abby!! this is why, this is exactly, kind of-- the thing i'd-- 

dark 'n stormy barbie 

(writing talent sold separately) 

•••

photos and content by chantal (and abby) 

scene

it is. he was right, 

" all the world's a stage... "

caught in the act 
but by a few, 

most walk on and along 

consuming without question
thought-- 

second thought-- what's made us watch us 
perform so-- 

from behind big sunglasses no reflection glitter on bright 
screens starred envisioned watching the time forgot to look 

and to think-- 

but what's the purpose-- 
question-- so on 
and on... 
so and so and 

speaking, flashing, posing, speaking
lines when prompted 
and on 

and on and -- line -- 

and on 
and on 

and off consumed 

oft it is... 

he was right

ps....

yes that's right i just remembered... i have a blog!!! ha! wow, funny how that slipped my mind. in fact, i have two blogs, well, more than two.. i better catch up. 

'all the world's a stage' is the theme of the summer writing workshops that i'm doing with the kids, but it has also been the way the world has been playing before me in recent months, the way in which things have appeared to me... from behind my sunglasses (and i do believe i'm borrowing the phrase 'from behind my sunglasses' from one of my student writers! isn't that an awesome sentence?!!) authenticity is nearly impossible to grasp-- there's so very little of it... at best i put on my sunglasses and search for what little of it remains within myself... and on and on-- through-- beyond-- and behind-- all the staged and the stages...

x c

words and photos c by chantal

from the cover of the big BURSTING issue....

just another comic from the 12-page newspaper the kids and i published yesterday... wow this one took a long time to put together by hand, i was up for days, but totally worth it. more on this later... as we're now in the midst of a special edition for this thursday..... let's just say it's a hilarious work of pure newspaper fiction, and we wrote the entire thing in three hours yesterday, i've never seen anything like it, it was the most hard-working, entertaining and dedicated group of 9, 10, 11 year old newspaperists (and abby of course) that i could have ever asked for. now it's up to me to get the madness in order for thursday. 

comical stuff to come. x c

[photo by me, of course, of the front cover]

by any other name---

these past two weeks i've been helping one of my students write an essay on helen keller. i've been really inspired as well. both of us have been inspired. writing on and off the essay topic, inspired by the persistence, the strength and the courage of helen keller and the details that surround us, those that we walk past and never notice, and the ones we stop and think about with respect to helen.

we were taking notice of the small details around us -- sight -- sound -- words spoken -- songs -- laughter -- rain -- conversation -- shadows -- with new eyes we saw the sounds and heard the words. the other day at the cafe where we meet i told her just to take a few minutes, look around, and see what was there. next thing i knew, i tried to talk to her and she held up her hand, mumbling something to indicate that i shouldn't bother her. she was very busy scribbling something down. "oooh you're gonna loooove this" she squealed with delight as she was writing. in about three minutes, the 11-year-old girl who came to work with me in september and told me proudly "i hate writing" had written this poem:

What Helen Should Have

the sun on a rainy day,

people in the café,

a look in a good book,

the way the cloud sway,

that’s what i see today. 

then we were on the phone this afternoon finishing up her essay that's due tomorrow and we --sidetracked momentarily-- were discussing the performance of the school play willy wonka and the chocolate factory that she was in last night. she started counting for me, the number of roses she received after the performance,"i got a lot of red ones... and some pink... and-- "

i heard her telling me the colors of the roses, yet underneath, my mind wondered as it was already composing this next bit that i've now finished writing below......




the roses as helen knew, as i hold them in mind.

they were never yellow, never red, nor pink, purple, white or speckled. they were r-o-s-e-s spelled in hand. they were never admired from afar, or on the kitchen table, never seen from the window. they were touched, learned from fingertips and palms, yet as far as i can see...

the smell was as sweet, perhaps sweeter, but more dangerous to the touch-- causing pain without warning, a disguise, enticed, by the pleasing scent above the stem... nature's silent way, to illustrate for helen, to warn, that nothing sweet can be held, can touch without moments of unexpected pain t-h-o-r-n soft petals at fingertips release with the breath of dusk into helen's trusting palm p-e-t-a-l. under her bare feet on the grass, the rose petals tickle helen with secrets as they fall one-by-one but she doesn't notice as the petals fall from her rose, from her fingers to the ground and touch her feet and the toes that hide in between blades of grass, never knowing a color of greenest green, or yellow petals at her feet.

the fragrant petals just fallen in the air faint perfume lingers in her nose, in her fingers that believe they will once again reach out and grasp-- and bring light to her face. she reaches once more, not knowing that what was once there will never be, has fallen at her feet, and thus believing and trusting--  the prick on her finger from the thorn of what remains from the beauty of what was once, of what was just-- of what was lost-- aches, unexpected blood unseen, and sudden movement away from uncertainty, the blood-stained finger and her hand brushes past the bush where red roses grow and the scent turns her head familiar, new, and knowing now, and trying once more. reaching higher this time with experience, for if one reaches higher, with more caution, perhaps the soft scented object of desire will come into hand, gently reaching with certainty-- seen or unseen-- pain will be avoided, not forever, but in this moment.

and not knowing the richness of the iridescent crimson glimpse of that red r-o-s-e she gently caresses in her palm, she knows. bringing her nose, her eyes, her lips, to the open petals that welcome her; and no one hears her laughter, but her laughter, and roses, fragrant vibrations fill the air, and roses are experienced, not seen, their colors are touched, embraced, fallen and held, never peach or violet, crimson or yellow. delicate p-e-t-a-l-s blush with fragrance. laughter paints the roses colors vivid as your presence, feel them bloom in season-- in turn-- in pain-- in palm-- in faith-- unseen lessons love tangible in essence unexpected detail the r-o-s-e as sweet, by any other name---




chantal--raquel--helen

WOW! x6

i had the kids write magnetic six words again yesterday at the newspaper meeting. this is one of them written by a fifth-grade boy. ten years old and they write things like this.... that's why i keep going back.

i'll post more of them soon. have a nice weekend... x c

can only give them the seeds...

next time i'll share some of the magnetic six words from the kids... you know, the words they were busy writing while i was throwing these seeds at them :)

x c



ps more photos of the kids on my (not-so-updated) flickr

pieces

i had the kids writing six word stories with magnetic poetry at friday's newspaper meeting... but of course i was right in there writing with them! more to come...

of course!

"the course of true love... " shakespeare

senior year in college i wrote an essay on shakespeare's use of apostrophes in the title of his play Love's Labour's Lost. the topic and resulting paper were the mixed result of a late night, not having read the play for a long time, a blank page and a looming essay due in the morning, and a fine-tuned ability to write interesting content on obscure topics while somehow in the process discovering meaning and importance in the details of such randomly selected subjects. I do believe that that was what i really learned from being an english major, and it has served me extremely well and in fact enhanced my perspective, understanding and appreciation of the word (ha! typo... i meant to write.. world) ever since. oh and we spent the rest of class the next day discussing the issue i raised of the apostrophe in the title. so perhaps in due course, avoiding one way of looking at things can haphazardly bring about an understanding of something else that's usually avoided (and in this case, i'm directly referring to the tripped over and forgotten, the use and misuse, of apostrophes, haha. but i'm serious...)

but all i meant to write here, was that, staring into nothing across the mess surrounding me just now, my eyes focused in on that very title, the words facing vertically down on the book cover binding: Love's Labour's Lost. and i got it i mean literally through osmosis it momentarily settled my nerves and came over me. and i got it. by shakespeare i got it. i could write that essay again with an entirely different meaning. those apostrophes say it all. they did back in college and yesterday and then again, today, it hit me, and it meant everything, and in the ink-stained hands of time, the touch of shakespeare's pen scribbled on the to do list sitting on my desk in front of me, reminding me that it's all happened before, this is the experience, the process, and in the tradition of his timeless words, the course--

Love's Labour is at times, overlooked; Lost. at other times, it is again found. and at times like this, it is somehow all at once lost, found, running and smooth.






"the course of true love never did run smooth--" shakespeare. of course.

x c

News in (big) print

So now that I’ve got my age-appropriate glasses on (wink wink from behind the drugstore reading glasses that I tried on here and here and in the blurry process found out that 30 wasn’t exactly the right moment— at least for my eyes and this accessory— though they seemed so happy together) nevertheless it’s time to be serious and get down to business. And ok, I’m not sure if this counts as serious or business but you know how I have a writing program for kids (if you didn’t know that, check out their blog : writing from the rooftops) well now I will be starting a school newspaper with them! It’s already become a lot of work and yesterday we had our first official ‘meeting’ and— wow—

—but I mean, it’s going to be great, I just have to really get it organized. The cool thing is that, not only are the kids exceptional at writing, but the ones who I’ve already been working with (that you know and love : Abby, Pyper, Olivia ..perhaps.. if we can tear her away from the junior high saga I got her to start writing which documents life at her new middle school, and Raquel who you’ve yet to read much about, but will—) are now assisting me with the newspaper operations. And that’s pretty cool. They helped me run the first meeting and explain the elements of the newspaper to the interested students who came to find out what the newspaper was all about.

The girls were really enthusiastic and there to make sure everyone understood what was going on...a prime example of this came when were sitting in front of the rest of the kids and some of their parents at this initial introduction newspaper meeting, these talented, enthusiastic, helpful aforementioned girls decided to impersonate ‘Chantal’ for the crowd just so they could get to know me (this hadn't really come up before when we'd discussed what we'd do in the meeting...), so Abby took my big dark sunglasses off my head and wore them on her little face and crossed her legs under the table and made a face that I'm almost certain I never make and Pyper started writing like crazy in my notebook and Raquel reached for the multitude of bracelets on my arm that she told the rest of the group I aaaaaallllways wear... and the meeting kind of progressed like that..... so I just said something like, wow guys it sounds like you all have a lot of newspaper ideas to talk about, so why don’t you just do that now and I'll walk around and get to know you, now that you know me—

—but they are full of personality and energy and ideas and passion on and off the paper. After the meeting and before we locked up the classroom I captured some of it as I was watching Pyper dance in front of the fan...talk about charisma, just look on my flickr, none of these photographs were posed, that’s how full of life these girls are. And they really bring something into mine. So perhaps this newspaper is going to be a lot more work than I signed up for, but the potential words (and photo ops with my new cute little blue camera the Algerian gave me that’s way better than reading glasses from the drugstore as a gift at 30) are too good to miss. And so, it might take a while, but we’ll be there— to get those moments in print (...and I just might need those reading glasses by the time we’re done!)

x c

sunday comics--

he's mr.
So and So
and i'm ms.
I Think You Know

music boxes 
kindred spirits
sunday comics

and 
i knew 
the words



 

sunday comics 
with Linus.  

yes, THAT Linus. 
who else.  

yes really, the REAL Linus from the peanuts cartoon strip (minus the blanket, he left it in the car) the most amazing man you ever did meet-- cartoonist, painter, writer, thinker, joker, smooth talker, my mentor, sunday lunch date, partner in crime and pen pal.... ....Linus doesn't have a computer, or an email address, he doesn't use the internet and still draws his cartoons by hand and submits them in the post.. so we send each other good old-fashioned letters. "we're the exception" he announced with a grin to me and everyone else at the lunch table this past sunday, referring with pride to our out-dated habit of correspondence via handwritten letters sent in the mail.

Linus has been a mentor to me in my writing and in every other creative endeavor i've attempted. he's also just somehow always been there letting me know it's ok to see things in a different light, to try things another way, and to live a life that others might never really understand, he supports me as i attempt to discover what to do with all the extra details i continue to notice about this world.

he told his parents he wanted to be a cartoonist at the age of six. he used to wait on the porch for his father to come home from work every night with newspaper in hand, so that they could read the comics together. he worked with charles schulz (creator of the peanuts comic strip) and reminds me all the time that schulz used to tell him that even if he wasn't paid to draw the peanuts comic strip, he would have done it every day anyway, that's how much a part of him it was, that's how much it meant to him. and i got it. so did Linus. 

at the age of 83 he's still working hard and has made his living as a clever cartoonist, a brilliant artist (his paintings are fantastic) and a colorful comic on and off the page. So ya, this Linus is real. Just wish he could read my blog, i've showed him a few times how to access this internet thing, but it was just an art from another time that he didn't seem to grasp, so instead i'll print it out and send it to him in the mail.

sunday comics--

x c

photos : by c

more sunday comics photographs : flickr

last time i mentioned Linus : here

any time you need a smile just look at this photograph : and have a good weekend

then—
her laughter
shattered my silence—
a faint light
flickered in darkness
as pieces of her laughter
fell—
sparkled
--reflected
danced—
touched me
--gently
let them fall
laughter
and her eyes big
–gleamed with
something else to
tell me on another day
as her nose scrunched
and the corners of her mouth
could no longer contain
her laughter

(for abby)


 photos : by c
(for more visit my ever-growing fickr)

bon week-end x c

science is the new black (now a series)

so until my smart science sister has that science blog of hers i told you about up and running (yes it's still in 'development' phase) i'm going to do my own version of vague-she'll-laugh-at-me-science-ish posts until she finally can't take it anymore and gets so embarrassed for me that she just decides on a title for her authentic science blog, registers it, and writes her first entry (which, by the way, i encouraged her to write about when she recently explained to my parents how to make a home-remedy disinfectant using a bottle of vodka-- or at least-- that was the story they gave me when i found the empty bottle of really old vodka on the kitchen counter, that's what they claimed to have used it for.)


and since science is the new black, today my vague science-ish topics will be as follows :
(because i personally believe that in science organization and lists are probably important)

• the book my sister is reading
• a quote from darwin (that i got from my sister)
• the effects of medications on creativity (a personal anecdote from yours truly)



the book my sister is reading right now sounds fascinating, i'm actually dying to read it. and that never happens when she's reading about proteins or cells. this book literally combines our two passions, our two ways of looking and thinking and understanding, our two worlds of thought-- literature and science, poetry and uh-- you know-- science... just kidding. but seriously it sounds like an clever and involved book that she will read slowly and digest every detail and i will read sentence by sentence and get such inspiration with each sentence that i'll stop to write for a day and them come back the next day to read the following sentence. the book is called proust was a neuroscientist by jonah lehrer a young writer who has now got my attention. i'm going to pick up this book in the next few days.



next on our agenda is something i keep thinking about, and she (my sister) keeps thinking about -- and i'll let you think about it now. it's her 'status' online, a quote by darwin. read it. over and over.

"it is not the strongest species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change"

charles darwin

and lastly, since we're discussing neuroscience and change, we can touch on the recent happenings in my headache saga. this new treatment i've been on (aka the reason for my blog absence, twitter disappearance and unprecedented block of the writing kind) is an anti seizure medication, the latest method in migraine prevention. but here's what i've noticed. (other than the obvious side effect of losing my thoughts in mid-sentence-- everything just goes on pause--- the ideas and words evaporate and i completely forget what i was saying) it's as though it has literally stopped the 'seizures' of thought, of passion and inspiration in my head. let me insert here, poetic surges of inspiration and passion and thought, because other things like focus on work and developing curriculum for my writing students has increased, productivity and creativity in this area has expanded, but where, i keep asking myself, are my desires to immerse myself and wade out too deep in poetic words and flashes of haiku that stop every other happening in the world, every other thought, poems that come over me like-- (see this is where the words would have come over me, or simply flowed from my fingertips and metaphorically showed you the arrival of the poems, instead, there's a pause--- a slight hollow buzz) or perhaps i'm putting too much pressure on myself and i'm still in the adjustment phase. i know. the words are in here, but perhaps a seizure of words isn't so bad every once in a while, when all of a sudden i fall down because this idea hits me like-- well like-- well-- you know--

the first in the science is the new black series : here : the beginning of the end some might call it, my sister might call it etc...

x c

found the peace i was holding

photos : by c

x c

science is the new black

my sister is starting a science blog.

no— wait— don’t stop reading this— don’t run away or fall asleep!!! it’ll be good stuff, her target audience is people like me— a science blog with info that your average everyday chantal would come back to and actually want to read more of : science issues that concern, interest and touch all of us, and written by this incredible mix of charm and brains, serious focused concentration and loud music. she's one part laughter : one part nerd : one part shopping (yes nini i realize that’s three parts.)

so she called me for help and inspiration with setting up the blog. last night we were on the phone for two hours figuring out all the details— and by all the details i mean just the name of her science blog !!!! uuuuggghhh you precise methodical science people (hi nini thx for reading today love you) then she decided to sleep on it and figure it out in the morning. so if anyone needs a list of about 40+ science-y blog titles (but with charming creative hard-sought-after twists) just let me know......... and i will be sure to let you know when she finally types in that carefully crafted title and proceeds to the next step in the process of creating her blog. we may have to pull an all-nighter when it comes to choosing the blog colors (love you nini!)

and if you’re wondering, her name’s janine, i call her nini. you just don’t find many nerds as cute as this one...... she talks about cells and proteins with so much enthusiasm and genuine enjoyment— the same way i talk about clothes or coffee or haiku... but she also genuinely loves what she does, as i love words and writing, and she wants to find ways to make areas of science more accessible and enjoyable to others. this blog will just be the start of her attempt, and i’m sure i will have to learn a thing or two!! she’s also a fantastic cook and quite a mélange of health-conscious (understatement) gourmet (yes, oxymoron— gourmet grad student, but she is) and plans on sharing recipes and food tips on the blog as well. if the title ever gets through the final selection phase, i’ll let you know, cuz she’s got a lot on that plate.

and hey, maybe with her help science will be the new black. hey! that’s not a bad name for a blog.... science is the new black i’m gonna call her right now. i’m sure she’ll veto that one too... ;)

x c

"facts are not science --

as the dictionary is not literature."

martin h. fischer

photo credits 1 : jerry yoon 2 : chantal (aka c)

scribbling what i know

scribbling words spilling coffee cleaning up my messes scribbling coffee spilling poetry on napkins. i write.
leaving traces of haiku on scraps of paper everywhere and working with young writers inspiring them through their own words



photos : by c

my haiku blog : chandeliers on the floor
my new and old photos (suburban dust / parisian stuff / etc.) : flickr
in the words of my students : writing from the rooftops

--under construction--

not the blog, just my mind.

it's rather simple. like the old nokia cell phone i've reverted back to using in the past few weeks since my smaller more socially acceptable cell phone died. wires crossed uncrossed and now at rest. a little over a month on a new headache medication and the world seems to have slowed, calmed, nearly emptied-- through this view out the same sunglasses i always wear, it's in a light i've never seen before. simple. just phone calls received, dialed. text messages-- not enough memory to save the ones from last week so just delete and start fresh. a familiar phone-- so old i think it's probably back in style-- remember the old nokia you could drop in the gutter and take in the shower and spill coffee on and step on or drive your car over and it never broke or stopped working-- it's that one, and it works perfectly and it makes me laugh when i use it and it's easy. it's simple. {abby one of my young students thought i accidentally brought my house phone to the cafe the first time she saw it! she still calls it my house phone} but you know what, it works better than any of the fancy mobile phones i've used for years and it's reliable. the reception is unbelievable and the battery never dies it's suddenly everything i needed.

as i've often mentioned i've been battling chronic headaches for years and going through a series of new medications and treatments. the latest approach was the most drastic, and i've found some headache relief, but all at once everything else seemed to change as well, thoughts come slower and are often lost right in mid sentence, and words--- well-- i feel like we're starting over again. this has been a transforming month. another life. things are somewhat simpler, and i almost like it. but some of it has also been unbelievably frustrating and disheartening and just exhausting.

in the midst of all of this i had a visit from my dear norwegian friend and i will share some of our photographic explorations of suburbia. and then there's something that i found which i'd thought existed but also somewhat took with a grain of salt--as myth-- urban legend, turned out to be walking with me all along just like they said but-- you know how things come and go and if you listen closely you can hear me whispering it right now, but maybe you can feel it under my words, and words to come. until then, and until i figure out how to merge the new and old ways of living, thinking, functioning, observing, appreciating and most importantly writing, i might play around with posting some of the photos i've been taking lately with my really old, faulty digital camera, as for the past month, my words have been lost somewhere inside this head of mine that's trying to find its way through the pain and back again speaking the same language, and learning yours. the headaches aren't completely gone, and even though at times it makes me dizzy, somehow things stopped spinning. please excuse my unplanned absences as i adjust to all of this and still find my words, and you-- and back again.

x c

photos : by c

and this..

the poetry of everyday, every day.
#sixwords


::

sitting amongst shadows of her memory

a dear friend of mine who has with dignity, strength and grace been enduring an illness, has passed away. i sit holding the breath within me feeling this news envelop me still fresh though it has stood wavering on the edge of my thoughts lately. been writing tonight ever since i heard the news an hour or two ago, these thoughts and memories in no particular order have come over me and with the touch of words i have begun to capture the essence of what she meant and what this means.

image :: flickr

i just stand and stare before me shadows on the wall of dark purple orchids on bending branch..don't..hear what they're talking about..lost..shadows deep colors still capture her memory here in a dimly lit room that looked exactly the same five minutes ago before i knew

she dried the sage i still put in my dark tea today..gave it to me by the door..waiting..as i walked out into the sun didn't realize it was goodbye

shadows on the wall of dark purple orchids on bending branch..don't..hear what they're talking about..lost..shadows deep colors still capture her memory

echos of her accent melodic in my head take me somewhere else i hope she knew--

still in this moment right after i read those words so easy to read what i already knew so hard to believe i won't hear her generous dignified gentle voice again

wish i could have saved some of the messages that she left me on my cell phone. like the day i left her house without taking some cake with me for my family. i had a worried message from her telling me to please come back, that she'd forgotten to give me more cake.

shadows on the wall of dark purple orchids on bending branch..don't..hear what they're talking about..lost..shadows deep colors still capture her memory

this is the surreal moment before it sets in where i float slightly above my chair, numb, resonating, fingers working madly on this keyboard to capture her as if she could somehow silently slip away from my memory my fingers work reach move to grasp cling caress while knowing somewhere along the way that what was can never truly be lost

sitting amongst shadows of her memory
smiling amongst the echos of her laughter

.


.
.

the story of an hour

words distort my clock
hands swift-- at times-- stopped forget--
at times-- watch the hours
.

.
which reminds me. please see my previous post titled the story of an hour and take a few min to read my very favorite short story of all time from which i borrowed the title the story of an hour by kate chopin.. it's haunting-- delicate-- touches me every time i read it.
.

.
ok... gotta go or i'll be late for tutoring with miss abby at our cafe.... x c

.

chandeliers on the floor :: haiku
image :: mrs french flickr