time and tide

Over that hill there is a world full of promise and uncertainty. We can predict what the future will hold, and do our best to plan for all possibilities. However we will never know, the number of uncertainties is simply mind boggling. In short there is no way to know the number of things that we do not know.  The best we can do is hope our plans and schemes are worthwhile.

The cold winds blow, constant and ceaseless, nature requires that we build shelters and such. Putting down timbers and stolen. Using nature against itself. To try and protect those things we have scrapped together. Trying to mark our place and time on this rock. To say " I was here This is who I am." those things gain a personal significance, and we pass them along to our family and friends that they might have something to remember us by. The problem being that they will find that they will find that the things we pass on mean different things to them. Where do they keep our memories in amongst those that they are trying to build for themselves.

The Witching Hour.

The Witching hour Before the world wakes up,
The moon has settled back in his chair.
The Reddish purple rays of dawn's light
have yet to brush the sand filled eyes of the slumbering folk
eager only to catch those last restive moments.

This is when I rule, preparing for the early rush.
The occasional car flashing past.
A couple stops in weary from the road,
Halfway to where they want to be.
Then they are gone and I remain.
The road stretching out before them,
the waking sun lighting their path
Pushing them ever onwards.

Soon, too soon it seems
It will be busy, no time to think
Time only to react, to run on instinct.
There is no worry only a cheery smile and knowing hands,
But now is my time - to stop, to reflect and to prepare.
Waiting and biding my time here
In the Witching Hour.

writings from june 3rd

The best has just arrived that was the sound that everyone hear over the loudspeakers. Several people looked towards the door not sure what to expect. soon enough the large afro and orange jumper could be clearly seen walking through the crowd. Sure he was good, but the best? well that is what they where all here to find out wasn't it? and being who they where it was going to be a fun contest.

======== I do so hate being the bearer of bad news, but yet here I am again dealing with the familiar. Dammit Jamie why do you always have to be so grim? Not Every situation calls for you to be so incredibly morbid. Sorry Otis, Sometimes I just can't help it. I try to be more cheery but it has always been so difficult for me.

==== The Rain pounded off the glass, heavy and sharp. Otis watched from his third story office window as the people below splashed though the puddles, and smiled to himself as dark umbrellas sprouted like ill-weather flowers. Returning to his canvas, attempting to re-creature the hustle and bustle down below. He didn't know why but he always did his best work when the weather took a turn for the worse. It seemed that was his gift. to bring the light out of a dark situation. His assistant was in the lobby scurrying around , sorting files, cleaning and eavesdropping on his calls. The usual sorts of things that she did. I t was a little bothersome at times but Otis didn't let that bother him anymore. She was reliable and always showed up no matter what else was going on in her life. Granted she always took the time to let him know exactly what was going on her life.

Traveling man

An older oriental man is traveling home after a trip abroad. He has a satchell full of things he had collected on his trip, little knick-knacks mostly. If he finds something that he likes, the old man attempts to trade or barter for it. In an airport terminal, he comes across a woman selling tiny trees in pots. He trades her a seramic panda for one. Along the way he meets up with a strange man, and it they always seem to be traveling on the same bus, or plane or staying at the same hotel. They start to talk whenever they meet, however the destination or starting location is never discussed. The elder man trades a piece of thumb=-sized quartz for a watch. Stops at a dinner one night, offers to sweep the floor for his meal. In walks the traveler, who offers to help him. There is no indication that the old man is rich or poor, but rather that he is content, and the traveler appears to be well off.

Artimus GreyFur

Artimus Greyfur - Demon Wolflord

The moniker Demon is really a misnomer that he had picked up somewhere in his travels. Born of nature raised in the woods. Around the time he was 10 Artimus found a wolf cub caught in a snare left for some beavers. Freeing the pup he took it home and raised it as his pet and companion. During Artimus's training as a Druid, the pup Rickett went everywhere with him. As the years passed Artimus grew in power and respect amongst his piers, gathering more wolves in his pack, all the while Rickett never lost his place at his Master side, until it was his time to leave this plane. Vowing never to forget his longtime friend and ally. Artimus made a cloak from Rickett's pelt and proudly wore the dappled fur in all his travels.

Over time Artimus had learned that he had a certain power over the wolves around him, that they would bend to his will and almost eagerly follow his commands. Also learning where they where around him without looking, knowing that as long as a wolf was near him he would always have an ally. Many of the people he met where scared of this strange man wearing a wolf pelt cloak, and surrounded by the large beasts. Often this fear lead to anger and he was driven from villages and towns on numerous occasions.

The Man

And lo the one who was fallen shall rise to find his name destroyed and his home burned to ash.

Setting off to find the Three, taking nothing with knowing that he would find what he needed along the way. No one looked at him as he walked through town, fearful of his gaze and fearful of his scorn. Those who looked upon him quickly went about their business. Walking to the store, he was met in the doorway by a trembling young girl who was holding a satchel in both hands like a shield. Taking the bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he turned to tank the girl but she had already disappeared into the depths of the shop.

Looking over the small town that he used to call home and elderly man stepped up beside him, speaking softly "you'll want to head West, that's where why where last seen" Nodding his acknowledgement, the man stretched and put on his had and stepped down onto the dusty street, none to eager about starting his new life.