In a City

May 24

Dear Diary

Tuesday July 13, 1789
Cher Journal (Dear Diary),
Today I walked in the gardens, a small pleasure with life's chaos. Versailles, my beautiful palace, feels more like a cage than ever before. Father ordered the guards to not let anyone into or out of the gates, our family included. For now, we are prisoners in our own home because of the revolution. Mother is the only one who chooses this confinement. She has spent every day inside ever since Louis Joseph died and is still racked with grief. When I asked her yesterday, "Ca va, Maman? How are you Mother?" she just motioned me forward onto her lap and held me while she cried. While we are all affected, I think the combination of events is harder on her than on the rest of us. We all love each other dearly, but she had a special place in her heart reserved just for him, her little baby boy. On a different subject, the people's patience is fading.

Summer Travels

I took these photos early this year in Washington D.C., Massachussttes and Cape Cod. I inclued the "Unless" photo not because I think its particuarly good or even okay, but because I think it expresses a strong political statment about Global Warming. The photo was taken at the Washington D.C.'s People's March for the Climate in the spring of 2017.
Feb 10

This is the World We Live In

This is the world we live in, child... a world of pain, suffering and death... but also a world of love, charity and kindness.
This is a world of democracy... a world where the people fight for what they believe in.
This is a world of good and bad... war and peace... dark and light.
This is a world of hope, where life can be great... no matter what family you are born into. 
This is a world of freedom and dreams... where you can speak your opinion.
This is a world of beauty...of nature.
This is the world we live in, child... not a perfect one...not always a fair one... but one with much good... much light.
Jan 27
fiction 2 comments challenge: It

The Star City

It changed everything.
And now we are the last ones left.
Taken from the rubble of The Lost Planet.
Taught to prosper.
Taught to live.
And now we live in the stars, little one.
For we are lucky to survive...

      - The Book

We are divided by the time of our birth. The ones from before are Lost. The ones from after are Found. The few Lost left, like my grandmother, are separated from us. Only to be seen on Visiting Day, for they tell stories of how there are survivors. For they make believe we are not the last ones left. Visiting Day is not meant to be celebrated. It is meant to be a day to say goodbye. It is meant to give us the elusion of freedom of rights, though we have none. Visiting Day is today. It is my favorite time of year, a time where I too can pretend we are not alone. Where I can be swept up in my grandmothers hugs once more and can hear tales of The Lost Planet.
Dec 02

Shirley's Diary

August 3, 1773
Confinement has always been my biggest fear. Yet here I am in a cell, kidnapped by a traitor, a friend turned into an enemy. Well, I do suppose it is my own fault. I’m too trusting for my own good. Mother always said it was a good quality for a young lady of my time. She admired me for it, but look where it got me! I guess it is not as bad as could be, for one of the guardsmen was nice enough to bring me this diary (though I only think he did it because he was tired of my moping). Well, that is enough writing for today. I will be forced to get up rather early in the morning to visit the king.

August 4, 1773
Nov 30

The Angel Wing Necklace

Brown hair. That is the only thing I remember about her. I did not know her or anything about her. She was kind however, that much was easy to see. She was working downtown Burlington at the grocery store, and I told her I liked her necklace, like I did to most of the cashiers there. They always had pretty jewelry or at least to the eyes of a young child. My mom and I sat down at the ¨cafe¨ and started eating. Just a typical day in a typical town in typical Vermont. Suddenly she ran over to us, the angel wing necklace in her hand, a backpack on her shoulders. And she gave the necklace to me. "Someone gave me their backpack when I said I liked it, so here, I'm passing the kindness on."
Sep 16

Who am I?

I am a boat who sailed on the sea
Whose passengers lived in luxury 
Some were good and some were bad 
Yet they lived a story much too sad

They paid a pretty penny to be able to sail on me
Thinking they were going to get opportunity
Yet they paid for loss and hardship
And an experience to painful to leave their lips

At two twenty my fate was clear
Never would I see another year
Nor would I see the above again
I would scattered in pieces, never to mend

So that's my story, beginning to end
That each generation chooses to lend 
To the next who share it in turn
To their friends who are eager to learn

And so like that my story is shared 
From sea to land
Wether in writing or by speech
It marks you deep where none can reach
A mark so strong it holds you tight
'Till the last ray of light