Written by Tracy Giles, Canada

The ocean was still and flat like a scrying mirror with nothing to tell. The air was wantonly warm, tickling, tingling; and the sky was a deep swimming pool sapphire, unblemished by a single cloud.

But there – a ripple, a break – the head of a seal, smooth, black-eyed bad boy. We made eye contact. I was a giddy giggly girl. He coolly dismissed me, and continued his hunt, owning his stretch of water like a hot rod teen cruising the strip.

And then, he was gone … my lost heart trailing behind him like a frond of seaweed.

***

Written by Kate Hensher, Italy

The hospital bed, oversized and incongruous amidst the junk shop finds of my mother’s, dominates her narrow living room (the irony of living, not lost). I don’t know how she does it. Even with this ugly piece of metal that lifts and lowers, and promises her comfort, she’s still squeezed in two wicker chairs for visitors, the sofa banished to behind the headboard, so that from here, she appears foreshortened in the bed. On the wall, her paintings hung haphazardly, wherever she could fix a nail. Subject, style, media all vying for attention when she turns to relieve her pain. Or maybe just to avoid mine.

I’m sitting on one of the wicker chairs when she asks, “Are you ok with this?”

I don’t know what this is, what this means, so I say nothing as the nurse injects the morphine and I realise, too late, that this means I have lost my mother already; that for days, she will no longer hear me, or the goodbye that long afterward I will wonder if I ever said; that she will not say those final dying words to me. I will feel robbed, angry, broken.

Trust me, it’s not like the movies.

When it’s too late, I kiss her forehead goodbye.

*Did you love this? Then check out Scribbly – my quirky and gentle writing program that we snail-mail right to your home. Each issue has a theme, so all you have to do is follow the path! Scribbly members get the opportunity to have their writing featured here and/or in a future Scribbly.

Fall is full of opportunity. We have sunny afternoons and cool mornings and evenings, making it the best of both worlds. No longer will we have that hot sun, making our skin sting like a dodgeball hit. Everything starts to set a pause button. The garden slows down, the lawns are sitting dormant and the trees whirling and swirling into their time for glory. There are cool mornings that hint at winter but we are so glad to be done with the heat of summer, we welcome them.

Fall is full of possibilities. We make plans to begin anew. Just like the children heading back to class, we set some goals for ourselves. Now we are not distracted with holidays, visiting, we can focus our time and plan head. Crisp new notebooks, sharpened pencils, bells ringing —all waiting to be put to use.

Fall is full of promise. As a farm kid in Saskatchewan, harvest was THE event of the year. Is there anything better than riding in the truck on a warm afternoon, eating a juicy peach, and waiting for the signal from the combine to pick up the next load? Toasted tomato sandwiches, pears that ripened in the middle of the night, juicy peaches from that faraway land of BC. It is all a promise of good things to come.

Patricia Coulter, Canada

“The thing about creativity is that people are going to laugh at it.  Get over it.”
                                                                                        -Twyla Tharp

I love this quote because I believe everyone is creative and has a deep need to be so. Yet many of us won’t express ourselves through the arts because we are afraid people will mock or belittle our efforts.

My hope is that we come to the realization that perceived perfection in art, in creativity, matters not a whit. If you are creating for yourself, what society may think of your work is of no concern.

Eira Braun-Labossiere, Canada

Muffins are the substance of life.

Round and wrapped fresh out of the oven, hot, moist, burn your tongue kind of sweetness, full of chocolate chips melted into a moist cake like surrounding, and a crusty top I eat first. Shards of sugar adorn the top giving an extra boost of sweetness. The homemade fragrance coming out of a hot oven is intoxicating. Peeling off the wrapper comes easy and in seconds the first muffin is gone. I show no favoritism – as a drive-thru muffin gives me great delight! Muffin obsession in motion.

Sandy Pirdy, USA

A bright red overcoat with a ruffled petticoat for the stem obviously means this toadstool is a powerful woman with ladylike class. She confidently stands out among the stretching green grass and scattered brown leaves.

She is delicate in her detailed and dainty stock that so strongly supports a balloon of protection for all who gather beneath. She guards from the sun and shields against the rain, but be mindful! She could topple over at a moment’s notice from the slightest bump.

She is vibrant enough to stand out in a crowd while seemingly insignificant to the unappreciative eye. She is a toadstool; the essence of every lady.

Erica Thomas, USA

Dear Forest,
I saw you greet the morning sun as she wrapped you in her warm embrace.
I heard your whispers with the breeze. Secrets held in confidence.
I watched you dance with the wind to music never composed.
I inhaled your essence soft and ever changing.
I admired your reflection echo within tranquil waters.
I felt the silence of darkness kissing you goodnight.
I dreamt in your stillness beneath the watchful stars.
Enchanting was the coat of white you wore when winter came to call.
Your gifts, like my gratitude, are infinite.

Stacy Thornbrugh, USA

I like to write with pencil. Just like pens there are different pencils for different jobs. Wood cased (the kind that require a sharpener), Midori, Mitsubushi. As well as my trusty Pentel Twist Erase lll. (Current favorite lead is a smooth, dark 2B made by Fabre Castell.)

Pencils don’t “hitch” like a pen will. My hand doesn’t get fatigued and my arm doesn’t ache when using a pencil for a long period of time. It’s not about the ability to erase (which I don’t do anyway), but the feel of a smooth writing pencil on paper.

I feel like I could write forever.

Bonnie Conwell, USA