Desmond the Dragon

This is a story that began from 'There was a legend about the well in the garden' gleaned from the website:  
writing exercises.co.uk

Desmond the Dragon

There was a legend about the well in the garden. Sally sat quietly as her grandfather told her the story. She loved hearing his deep rumbly voice spinning the tale she knew could not possibly be true. The story was that, long ago, two identical wells had been built. No one else in the small town had two wells. Just her great-great grandfather. For people just riding through, it looked as though her ancestor was rich and powerful in the small dusty town. But the real story was that after the first well was completed and the bucket went down in the well for the first time, what was drawn from the well was not water. It was a small dragon’s egg. A great gasp went up when, just as Sally’s great-great grandfather was about to throw the egg back down the well, it began to rock back and forth.  Then cracks began forming on the shell. Tiny squawks could be heard growing louder as the egg shell fell away. The well in the garden became Desmond the dragon’s home. Sally’s great-great grandmother lined the bucket with soft wool and feathers. The little dragon was placed back in the bucket and lowered down just below the edge of the grey stony walls. Desmond grew strong, beautiful and grand. His home, the wooden bucket, became too small breaking apart as he grew. Desmond became part of Sally’s great-great grandparents family, and was welcomed each day in the town square. Children were given rides on Desmond’s broad green back, high in the sky. One day, Desmond had gone for a solitary flight but did not return. He had become painfully aware of how different he was in his family and town. If he stayed with those he loved and that loved him, he would be separate forever. There was no other dragon for him to mate with, to begin a family with, like the human families he had grown to love. And so the legend about the well in the garden and Desmond the dragon lived on in the family lore. Sally also grew beautiful, strong and grand in her own right. She would tell her children and her grandchildren the magical story. The well in the garden remained, with the beautiful wooden sign, Desmond’s name, carved deep just as it is carved in the family memory.

“Legends are best left as legends and attempts 

to make them real are rarely successful”

~ Michael Moorcock, Eric of Melniboné

When You're a Nurse

When you’re a nurse
You have to be aware of a lot of things
~ medicines, dosages, times and what prn means.
~ blood pressure, heart rate, body temperature and heart rate.

When you’re a nurse
Those aren’t the only details to be aware of
A tear, a clenched fist, attitudes that prickle
Wounds of heart, mind or skin to be cleaned and dressed

When you’re a nurse
Just working the bells and whistles is not enough
Listening and guiding, being gentle and firm but with kindness
Helps to mend all wounds of heart and mind and skin.

“The character of a nurse is as important as the knowledge she possesses.”

~ Carolyn Jarvis

If Silence Fell

I wondered today about silence
The silence that would descend if 
beeping of backing up vehicles
  ring tones of wandering cell phones
    whoosh of traffic vanished into the darkness.

What would it be like?
This strange silence echoing softly through our awareness
Would we all feel like 
  Deafness was our lot ~ or
    Breathe a deep sigh of relief?

Would the birds silence themselves
in the same limbo, waiting for the next unnatural sound
Or would all birds, large and small
   Rejoice with their twitters filling the skies
      Soar high knowing their songs would have no competition.

“Such a deep silence surrounds me, that I think 

I hear moonbeams striking on the windows.”

~ Lucian Blaga

Morning Application

After finishing a class about ArtWriting, I had an opportunity to visit two or three art galleries this morning with friends. Not an unusual sort of outing, except that now the little cards posted beside the various paintings had more meaning to me.

At the Winchester Gallery, we studied the exhibitions of two artists ~ Brad Pasutti’s exhibition Intertwining and Barbara Edwards exhibition: Road Trip, A Paper Trail. Copies of their New Release, from May describing their history and their work was available in the gallery. Last night’s class!

Then it was on to The Avenue Gallery to see the works of the artists Brent Lynch - Painter, and Susan Rankin - Glazier. Artist’s Statements were posted on the wall beside their works. Artists Statements were Session Three.

As we strolled the sidewalks, sculptures by local artists were placed.  Plaques at the base were much briefer telling the artists name and the sponsor.

I looked at the artwork with a different eye today, felt the artist behind the work and wondered who wrote the words - the artist, a writer or both. 

“Knowledge isn’t life changing. The application of knowledge is.”

~ Todd Stocker

Promotional Writing - Session Six ArtWriting

The final class of six ArtWriting classes.  Desperate for a new learning experience, and on impulse, I registered for a class in ArtWriting at Vancouver Island School of Art. It was a class for artists of any medium to put themselves forward. Defining not only themselves but their art works and how to approach the media for exhibiting their art. Clearly, I had jumped into the deep end but still wanted to learn. Introduction to the course began on May 17, then Session Two to write a bio, Session Three an artist’s statement and Session Four an essay about an artist’s exhibit.  Once more the deep end, and as the classes progressed, creativity was my only life jacket. 

My plans were to visit an art gallery and write a blog post about an art piece. That was the twist I needed. Artists need to wrtite, and if they don’t want to write or haven’t the time, they need someone else to write for them. Some galleries have blogs, that have exhibition essays and artist’s bios on them. So I planned to take my pen in hand……..and then the wind blew and the pollen filled the air.  Last week, and specifically last Tuesday, I was out of commission for Session Five.

Tonight, Session Six, I only stayed for a partial class. It was education about effective ways to approach media, and applying for grants. 

All in all it was time well spent. Would I take that class again?  Probably not based on the content, but for the learning adventure, definitely. It did turn up my ‘Awareness Meter’ regarding this blog and has set the bar much higher.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”

~ Helen Keller, The Open Door

Beware the Pollen!

Pollen
Drifted through sweet breezes
I sneezed……
And sneezed…….
And Sneezed.

Wind
Blew long and strong
Congestion filled my head
    Collections dense and stifling
       Throat red and sore with each swallow.

Awareness ~
 Buried in tissues of soft white ~
   Only awakens when the winds die down
Until I sneeze one more time……..

“The pollen count, now that’s a difficult job. 

Especially if you’ve got hay fever.”

~ Milton Jones

An Ordinary Man

He was just an ordinary man,

in khaki denims, tanned from the sun

coming down from the tractor

Told me a story

said he moved a kildeer’s nest

when he was plowing to keep it safe.

He was just an ordinary man

held me quietly while the summer storm passed

told me about thunder and lightning

Came to my piano recital when I was thirteen ~ or was that eleven

the year I got a 'Most Improved' medal

gave me a big hug and told me how proud he was.

Really. 
I am aware that my dad was just an ordinary man.

"Old as she was she still missed her daddy sometimes."

~ Gloria Naylor