My thoughts run wild, like wolves bereft of the leader of the pack. Unruly and undisciplined they leap and run uselessly without purpose.
I must step in and take control lead the unruly bunch where I want then to go. The breeze catches at my fur as I lift my muzzle to sniff the air. There, the scent of our quarry. Too long has my imagination been starved for lack of a good hunt but now here it is. Carried on the wind as I call in my pack of wild thoughts with a snap and a howl.
Quietly but faster than the speed of wind, we stalk silently, our prey is on the run. Hah! There cornered against a tree, the illusive Beast of Inspiration. My unruly pack now disciplined and precise cautiously move in. We pounce, my pack and I. Devouring the Inspiration’s ideas and schemes. Thoughts become plans, vagaries become twists, goals become purpose, daydreams become characters. Yes, my pack of unruly thoughts feed and feed upon the Inspiration until finally they are sated. And the story begins to take form.
“The night was cold and dreary as a sliver of crescent moon peeked out from behind a cloud. Her cloak damp with the mists of Erthean forest, eyes of céladon green scanned the horizon.”
For Linda’s JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness SaturdayYour prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “movie title.” Take the title of the last movie you watched (just the title, not the premise of the movie), and base your post on that title.Have fun!
Last movie I watched, hmmm Spiderman Far From Home (dvd)
Star was alone on the top of the rise. They had been traveling for days through the bleak sandstone of the Enchanted Wasteland. The first few days were spent wading through endless sand dunes. Star and her company had trudged the dunes, scarves tied so tightly around their faces they could barely breath. Even that did not prevented the constant shifting, blowing sand from working it’s way into their eyes, ears, mouths and lungs. The dunes had given way to rocky hardpack, the sun beat brutally against the skulls of Monster, Witch, Human and beasts alike. As she topped the rise, hoping to see some glimpse of green in this Goddess forsaken land, she saw … waves. Waves of colored sand, fossilized dunes of varied colors that stretched for as far as the eye could see.Continue reading “JusJoJan and SoCS – Movie Title theme”→
Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “the first 3 words of the first full sentence.” Okay, follow me here. This is what I want you to do: 1. Grab the closest book to you when you sit down to write your post. 2. Open it to a random page. 3. Locate the first complete sentence on that page. 4. Use the first three words of that sentence to start your post, then take it from there–write whatever comes to mind. That’s it! Have fun!
Page 130 – Moontide – “A gust of wind caught it as she got her sword clear and threw it over his head.”
A Gust of Wind
A gust of wind blew through Star’s hair. As always, her mind went blank even as her body reacted. She acted as she had been trained, dancing with effortless grace wielding a slender curved sword in one hand, dagger in the other.Continue reading “JusJoJan – SoCS — A Gust of Wind”→
Your prompt for #JusJoJan and Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “ow.” Find a word that contains “ow” or use it as a word in your post. Have fun!
We give them life we watch them grow we see them learn but even so we cannot help but wonder what future lies ahead like tracks on new-fallen snow we savor ever step watching the way they go ’til one day we discover the child we reared is grown busy now with jobs and life and children of their own
For Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday – our fitting final prompt for 2019 is “year.” Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “year.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
It was a year both terrible and glorious filled with tragedy and triumph a year of great loss and equally great victory and in between, it was filled with the very core of spirituality those stormy Mondays and rainy Saturdays flowers, weeds, good soup and tea and all the mundane and glorious details of this epic fantasy we call life
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “ingle.” Find a word that contains “ingle” and use it any way you’d like in your post. Have fun!
Random Thoughts that Jingle – Stream of Consciousness Saturday
The jingle, jingle of bells, the laugh of ole’ Kris Kringle. Ho, Ho, Hoing all along the way. Holiday parties, Christmas trees, voices sing as friends mingle, over a cup of wassail while nestled near the ingle. Yet the single most important message of the season so often overlooked is the reason. This is the season of renewal, the waking from the night. Every Winter Solstice, I get that familiar tingle, I can feel the coming of the light.
Soft snow blankets the natural world, insulating it from the cold winds that still blow. But beneath it all Mother Nature begins her work as she readies the costumes for Spring’s big show.
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “loud.” Find any word that means “loud,” and use it any way you’d like in your post. Enjoy!
How appropriate for this loud season. I am often struck by the dichotomy of serene quiet snow covered landscapes and the blaring loud displays of the holidays. Yikes. Well, to each their own. I know this poem starts with a rhyming pattern and then stops but c’mon it’s stream of consciousness, not polished. 😉
People rushing through the store Loud decorations glaring Loud holiday music blaring hopelessly searching for something to make their Christmas perfect
Mindlessly seeking like water running in tiny streamlets freely flowing across the asphalt parking lot Deafened by the loudness of the season
they never even paused did not see, or hear the quiet the beauty of a tiny flower struggling toward the light from a crack in the sidewalk
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “key.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!
The Key to Her Success
The skinny little wretch sat there on the barstool, mocking me.
“Oh the key to my dieting success? I just forget to eat sometimes.” She said it calmly while scarfing down an order of wings with blue cheese and one of those silly froo-froo cocktails with enough sugar to put someone like me into a coma.
I may have rolled my eyes just a little while she polished off the double order of grease and goo. I mean honestly, forget to eat? Really? Lady you gotta be some kind of stupid to forget to eat.
Now I’m in my 60’s, and I’ve forgotten a LOT of things. I’ve forgotten the budget report the day I was supposed to present it to the board of directors. I’ve forgotten my keys, forgotten where I parked my car (once when I was at home). I’ve forgotten my parents anniversary, I’ve forgotten my own anniversary. I’ve forgotten my children’s names, I’ve forgotten my purse, my phone, my bra (yeah let’s not dwell on that one). I’ve forgotten to unplug the iron, I’ve forgotten how the heck to open that stupid child-proof zip lock bag and had to get my grandson to help me. But never, ever, not once, have I forgotten to EAT.
“You don’t look bad honey, you should just get so busy you forget all about eating for awhile.”
I smiled my best Monalisa smile, snatched the last wing off the plate, chugged the last of my light beer and belched. “Sorry girlfriend, just won’t work.”
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “shade.” Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
Shades of Magic
The graveyard was old and dark. No bright monuments or flowers festooned a new graves, dark and dreary as the night. Star followed Meldimeriel, the tiny fairy bobbing a bit ahead casting the only light in the gloom. In a unkempt section of the cemetery, they came to their destination. A simple soldier’s grave, centuries old untended, the meager headstone crumbled and decayed beyond recognition. Naught left for a marker but an ancient sword thrust into the ground, topped by an old helmet.
Meldimeriel bobbed up and down in excitement. They had found the grave they sought. Star gently laid her bow, quiver, and staff aside, pulling smaller items from the pockets of her cloak, herbs, salt, a small silver pentacle. With a sprinkling of herbs and salt, Star cast her circle, closing it with a whisper of magic. Raising her pentacle overhead, she whispered her chant.
From the grave a sullen grey mist slowly rose, hesitantly coalescing into a vaguely human form. The shade glared balefully at Star with a booming mutter “Release me.”
“I have questions,” Star replied, respectfully nodding to the ancient shade.
“ASK!” boomed the disembodied voice.
Star scuffed the circle with her boot disbursing the protective magic. She would meet the shade on his own ground. Gathering her courage, she stepped out of the circle.