wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.


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The Man in the Moon

When we see the shadows on the moon, we are probably looking at craters, or so we’ve been told.

Sometimes when we look, we see eyes and a mouth that looks like a big O! Last night I couldn’t see the big O but I thought I saw eyes and a nose. Maybe he was wearing a Covid mask. Moments later the man in the moon was gone. But who was that masked man?

Well, we know he arrived in the spaceship Apollo 11.

I tried to make the face a likeness of Neil Armstrong, but I’m not much of an artist.

But sometimes, when I look at the moon, I see “el conejo en la luna,” the rabbit in the moon. Aztec legends tell several versions of the story of their god, Quetzalcoatl, who was responsible for the rabbit ending up in the moon.

In one version Quetzalcoatl is still a man on Earth. He is tired and hungry from wandering and a rabbit offers himself up as food for him. Quetzalcoatl lifts him up to the moon and then brings him down again, thanking the rabbit for his noble offer and saying that for this generosity his shadow will be displayed on the moon forever to remind people of the rabbit’s goodness.

(We don’t know if he ate the rabbit.)

 


My apologies to all the bunnies out there for the lumpy, bumpy image I’ve posted. I’m sure the earthly rabbits look much better than el conejo en la luna.

 

 


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Student Teacher

I thought I’d try my hand at writing a sonnet. 14 lines in iambic pentameter (da-DAH, da-DAH, da-DAH, da-DAH, da-DAH), three stanzas of four lines and one of two. Rhyming pattern ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

A student teacher starting out anew,

Stood scared before a class of girls and boys,

She struggled to remember what to do,

And wondered how to teach with all that noise.

 

Her shaking hands, her quivering voice aside,

She took a breath and said to form a line.

“I’m happy to be teaching you,” she lied.

“It’s your first day of school, and also mine.”

 

“Please take your seats,” the bashful teacher said.

But one child called out loud, “I like your dress.”

“Why thank you dear. It seems we both like red.”

Her trepidation causing her distress.

 

And like a duck with feathers preened and neat,

Below her, hidden, paddled urgent feet.


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The Necromancer’s Daughter

Diana Wallace Peach has done it again. She has written a novel that you won’t be able to put down.

All the emotions of human nature play their part in this exciting novel. Love, adventure, and intrigue, with just enough of a touch of magic to be believable, all feature in this page turner.

 

A healer and dabbler in the dark arts of life and death, Barus is as gnarled as an ancient tree. Forgotten in the chaos of the dying queen’s chamber, he spirits away her stillborn infant, and in a hovel at the meadow’s edge, he breathes life into the wisp of a child. He names her Aster for the lea’s white flowers. Raised as his daughter, she learns to heal death.

Then the day arrives when the widowed king, his own life nearing its end, defies the Red Order’s warning. He summons the necromancer’s daughter, his only heir, and for his boldness, he falls to an assassin’s blade.

While Barus hides from the Order’s soldiers, Aster leads their masters beyond the wall into the Forest of Silvern Cats, a land of dragons and barbarian tribes. She seeks her mother’s people, the powerful rulers of Blackrock, uncertain whether she will find sanctuary or face a gallows’ noose.

Unprepared for a world rife with danger, a world divided by those who practice magic and those who hunt them, she must choose whether to trust the one man offering her aid, the one man most likely to betray her—her enemy’s son.

A healer with the talent to unravel death, a child reborn, a father lusting for vengeance, and a son torn between justice, faith, and love. Caught in a chase spanning kingdoms, each must decide the nature of good and evil, the lengths they will go to survive, and what they are willing to lose.

 

Please see my review of Diana Wallace Peach’s amazing new novel on my other blog: https://annelisplace.wordpress.com/

 

The Necromancer’s Daughter Links:

Amazon Global Link: http://a-fwd.com/asin=B0B92G7QZX

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-necromancers-daughter-d-wallce-peach/1142003172

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-necromancer-s-daughter-1

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-necromancers-daughter/id6443278849

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1160370

About the Author

A long-time reader, best-selling author D. Wallace Peach started writing later in life when years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books. She was instantly hooked.

In addition to fantasy books, Peach’s publishing career includes participation in various anthologies featuring short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. She’s an avid supporter of the arts in her local community, organizing and publishing annual anthologies of Oregon prose, poetry, and photography.

Peach lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon’s rainforest with her husband, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes.

 

More about Diana Wallace Peach:

Amazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.com/D.-Wallace-Peach/e/B00CLKLXP8

Website/Blog: http://mythsofthemirror.com

Website/Books: http://dwallacepeachbooks.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dwallacepeach

 

***** Don’t forget the review of Diana Wallace Peach’s amazing new novel on my other blog: https://annelisplace.wordpress.com/

 


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Opportunists

Cloudy skies are welcome here,

Makes the heat wave less severe.

Look at this, it could be lunch,

If that guy can catch a bunch.

“How’s the fishing been today?”

Guy just stares with nought to say.

Looks like nothing in his creel.

Does he know the pain I feel?

“What? You had one, let it go?

I was wanting lunch, you know!”

Right! That’s it. I’m outta here,

Try to find another near.

I’ll find Joe, he’s down the shore,

How I hope he’s catching more.

Fisherman goes back to work,

Hoping soon his line will jerk.

PS I forgot to say these photos were taken by a friend on his cell phone.


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Coming for Me

I sat on my deck one day, just after dawn,

Enjoying my coffee and with it  a scone,

A rainbow popped out and shone over the hills,

Dressed up so pretty without any frills.

 

 

I ran for my camera, snapped up a shot,

Looked at it later and saw that I got,

Not only the rainbow, but also a bird,

That was so tiny, it looked quite absurd.

 

 

I zoomed it and cropped it, to look for I.D.

Was it a beetle, or even a bee?

It looked like a bird, but it seemed to be small,

It turned out to be not a real bird at all.

Mosquito bird magnus, it had me in sight.

Hovering closely, and craving a bite.

No friend of my hand, as I snapped up a frame,

He dove down, jaws open, without any shame.

 

Hum, hum, hum,

Hovering, here I come.

Zee, zee, zee,

Fresh blood waits for me.

 

Click, click, click,

Photos are so slick,

Cheese, cheese, cheese,

In the frame I’ll freeze.

 

Snap, snap, snap,

As her hand goes tap.

Whee, whee, whee,

Easy meal for free.

 


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The Egg Family

Father, Mother, and Junior have egged me on to do this post about them. My ideas were a bit scrambled and I didn’t know eggzactly what to do, but I poached this idea from a long eggo post.

The sunny side up about this whole thing is that the yolk is on them because I’m the one having the fun.

You may notice that the big daddy of all eggs is green with envy. He wanted to be like the others, but his wife, the mother egg, got browned off with all his complaining.  Her baby is browned off too, but as it turned out later, he was all bluster on the outside and runny guts on the inside. Father Egg always said Junior was coddled too much, but he still gave him his benedict – shun.

“Remember that we’re all the same on the inside. Our outer shell may be different but, for better or worse, we’re all whites on the inside,” Father Egg said.
“Yeah and a bit of yellow belly. That comes from being destined to be a chicken,” Mother Egg said.

Father Egg said, “I know I should never have left Denver and the other omelettes. You are the most deviled egg I’ve ever met. I know you think that was a wise crack you made, but in the end that crack will be your demise.”

“Fiddle faddle,” said Mother Egg. “Trying to be so hard boiled. You really are just a shell of a man.”

“Be careful, Mother,” said Father Egg. “You think I’m just over easy, but I know egg-I who was too eggcitable, and was always foaming at the mouth until his people had the idea of whipping him up into a lemon meringue pie.”

“That won’t happen to me,” said Mother Egg. “I’m just going to set here and write my memoirs. Someday omeletters will be in the museum archives and I’ll be famous. Junior can help me.”

“Oh no,” clucked Junior. “I’m too much of a chicken.”

“All right,” said Father Egg, “It’s time for some more yolks. Did you hear the one about the guy who went into the restaurant and asked what the specials were. The waiter said, “I recommend the cold tongue sandwich.”

“What?!” the guy said. “Me? Eat something that someone else has had in their mouth?”

“Oh, pardon me,” said the waiter. “Well, let’s see. How about an egg then?”

And so it went until they all cracked up and took a flying leap into the frying pan.

It turned out that big daddy turned out to be twice the man anyone thought he was. Here he is in the bowl. He had an eggstra yolk to tell, but we never got to hear it.


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Raccoon Invasion

It was quite dark when I took these pictures and then I tried to crop and lighten them somewhat so you could see the invasion of masked terrorists entering illegally.

They will take whatever they want: beetles, garden plants, and anything left over in bird feeders, or sunflower seeds that the squirrels missed.

Last week there were first four and then five raccoons. Now there are six! We are overrun with them. Will it ever end?

 

Carping and barking, we all go a-larking,

When daylight has faded enough.

Leaping and creeping, while folks are a-sleeping,

Avoiding a doggie’s rebuff.

 

Scratching the hatching of June bugs we’re catching,

We crunch up the meaty delight,

Smacking  and snacking, no flavour is lacking,

We chew every delicate bite.

 

Clicking and picking, the camera’s tricking

Our groupings to catch us at work,

Crashing and dashing we run from its flashing

Our family scatters berserk.

 

Mewling and fooling around can be grueling,

But masks will keep hidden our face.

Scowling and growling, we carry on prowling,

And hurry to find the next place.


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Nightly Visitors

The sun has just dropped below the hills. The first bats of the evening flit spastically through the air, looking for those giant beetles that helicopter around on hot nights. Once the bats go to work, the raccoons know it’s dark enough.

One muted sharp chirping bark calls the team together.

It’s time to go to work.

They creep through the hedge, sniff the air, and advance towards the safety of the island of trees.

“Now, Ralphie! Stick close to Mama,” says Rebecca. “And keep that mask on. There’s still Covid around, and even if masks don’t work, it’s better than nothing.”

Rhonda’s family comes out too, gathering around for a quick meeting to discuss the best route for foraging  through the yard. Richie, Ronnie, and Rachel mill around waiting for someone to make the first move. “But what’s the bright light?”

“Don’t worry. It’s too dark for anyone to see us now. That’s only some would-be photographer. Just hide behind your mask.”

The group scratches and paws at the ground. Some of them find the ten-lined June beetles that foolishly think they are safe to fly around at night, landing on anything and everything.
But any that land near a raccoon, on the ground or in the trees become just another hors d’oeuvre. Chomp! Chomp! Another one down the hatch.

“But where are we going? Are we going to check out the squirrels’ sunflower seed leftovers first? How do we get through the gate? ”

“Oh, come on then. I’ll show you the way. Never mind those squirrels in the woodshed.”

With a snort, Rebecca motors through the space in the fence, and all four of them follow her on the next stage of their nightly trek.

Once the raccoons started to run for cover it was hard to follow them with the camera, so apologies for the scrambled ending of the video below, but I did spy a small set of eyes hiding behind the tree.