I’ve been traipsing thru this field
of mines all day long
stepping gingerly
prolonging the inevitable blast.

will you stay beside me
or am I alone?
will you walk with me
or am I alone?

I remember that promise you made
when I was in a field of yellow flowers.
does it still hold true in the vast
where I can’t see you standing?

please take my hand again
I don’t want to be alone.
I can’t see the end to this dark land
and I don’t want to be alone.

I sometimes forget what it’s like
my hand in your hand.
I forget that it’s mine for the asking
but I’m too afraid of the blast.

With my hand in yours
I cannot be alone.
I can see light in this dark land
and I will not be alone.


So this is what breaking feels like.

I thought I was stronger than this grief, but it’s wearing me down; winning slowly.

Holding your hands; hands that used to hold me.

Wiping tears from your eyes. Remembering when you did the same for me.

This smile is a mask that I must wear for you.

If love is watching someone die, love is harder than I thought.


it’s that moment.

you know the one.

the one right before everything changes.
the oxygen is pulled from the room. from your lungs.
no air. no sound. no movement. just you.

you and the moment.

is it possible to stop the change? step back from the moment and turn. would change still come?

would that i could stop it.


The crunching sound of the leaves beneath his boots was deafening; the contrast of the silent valley broken by his presence. He felt almost ashamed to be disturbing the sanctuary of nature. Something so untouched by man.

He stopped a moment to take in the natural sounds around him; the wind rushing swiftly but softly through the southern beech trees. The sweeping rush of the Wairaurahiri river. A pair of snarky birds playing or fighting; there was no way to tell. He pulled in a breath of the cool, clean air and mused that he may be the first person ever to stand in this spot. Guaranteed, he was one of a very few who had.

Continuing on his journey, he followed the river to the Foveaux Strait. Jones was meeting him there with his boat and together they would make the trip across the strait to Stewart Island.

The rough trail began to lead him closer to the river and he knew that soon he would be traveling along its edge. This would be his means of travel all the way to the Strait and his journey on the tough inland terrain would be done.

He broke the tree line expecting to see the quiet beauty of the Wairaurahiri river and the majestic Kepler mountains.

What he did not expect to see was another person.

The moment he spotted the seated figure by the waters edge he froze thinking he might startle them; but they made no reaction to his presence.

Did they hear me?

Stepping closer, he contemplated what he was going to say. “Um..” he cleared his throat, “is everything alright here?”

There was no response from the still figure.

He took a step closer, all the while taking in any information he could observe. It was then that he noticed two bright red braids extending from the deep green knitted cap.

A woman?

Her jacket was a light wind-breaker which closely matched the green of her stocking cap. He could see the quality of the material from his position a good three yards behind her.

She was experienced, from her gear that was clear, but he could not tell why she was just sitting there. Was something wrong? Was she injured? He looked to the left and right to observe anything that might be out of the ordinary. Nothing.

He stepped forward again until he was directly behind her. She had not moved, save for the steady rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. So he reached out a hand and lightly touched her shoulder.

The contact startled her from her reverie and she sucked air in quickly through her teeth and spun around defensively.

He stepped back, hands raised with his palms up to show her that he wasn’t planning to hurt her in any way. Realizing her over-reaction, her defiant scowl melted into a calm expression marred by a pink stain rising in her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry.” He spoke quietly; not so much for her benefit but for the nature surrounding them. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I only wanted to see if you were alright.” His low voice sounded alien to him. He hadn’t spoken in…what?…more than 5 days?

“No,” her voice was unsteady, “it is I who must apologize. You were only being kind.”

The melodic lilt in her voice was comforting and familiar, but one he hadn’t heard in years.

“You from Waterford?”

She tilted her head in curiosity “Kilkenny, actually. You know Ireland?”

“I lived there for a time.” He paused for a moment contemplating whether he should give any more information to this perfect stranger and decided that at least his name wouldn’t hurt, “I’m William…well, Liam to most.”


“Is that short for Sabrina?”

The corner of her mouth turned up in a sly smile “No. Just Brigh. B-r-i-g-h.”

He chucked a bit, “You are irish, aren’t you?”

” ‘Fraid so,” her quiet laugh matched his.

They stood for a moment just staring at each other. Their mutual shock of finding another person in this pristinely undisturbed environment still reverberating in the air. Taking in her appearance he noticed, as he had before, that she was an experienced hiker; if the fact that she was even in this place didn’t give that away, her clothes did. Brigh had the fair complexion and red hair easily associated with the irish, but her eyes were unique. They were the color of dark amber and, it seemed, the longer he looked at them the brighter they burned.

Conversely, Brigh was making her own assumptions about Liam. What struck her most was his stature; he was very tall and thin. He’s almost too thin, like a reed. If she hadn’t run into him in this wilderness she never would have pegged him as “outdoorsy” let alone a hiker who was worth his weight in salt. There was something in his face, though. Trustworthy was the only way she could put it into words; which was certainly strange for her, as her trust for people was limited if non-existent.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Liam finally broke the silence “So, is everything alright? You seemed…” He paused to find a word that fit, “…preoccupied.”

Brigh looked down at her feet and let out a soft sigh, “I’m alright. I was just in that place…” she stopped, realizing she was speaking to a complete stranger; but still, there was something about him. About this place. This time. Her pride didn’t matter much here. Her privacy didn’t matter. She belonged to this place.

So she looked up and continued, “I was just wishing.”



“For what?”

“I was wishing I had another life. Wishing to be someone else; to be something else.”

“Something else?”

“Something,” the word came as a sigh. “If I could stretch my arms, they would become branches and my legs would become roots. I would dig into the rich, unspoiled soil and live out my days as a tree amidst this paradise.”

He watched her as she spoke and it seemed to him that she was speaking more to herself and to this place than to him. Her eyes slid across the landscape and drank in every bit of grace. He stayed silent and waited for her to speak again.

“I would pull myself into a ball so tight that I’d become a seed. I would plant myself here and spread every part of my body into the soil. Then I’d reach to the sun. My leaves would be soft and my petals would be lavender.” She smiled to the sky, “I wouldn’t be the most beautiful flower, though…a wildflower, perhaps. Quiet and tall.”

She turned slowly and resumed her seated position next to the waters edge. Liam wanted her to continue, but he didn’t want to break her reverie. He moved slowly to her side and sat next to her, looking upon the grandeur of the sweeping landscape.

“I’d unravel my leaves and take the sun into my core. If I were a flower, or a tree, I would sway with the wind; let her caress my limbs and sing me to sleep. I would bask in the silver light of the moon and turn my face to greet him every evening.

And the sun…oh, the sun! He would bring a warmth to my soul and a smile to my face that I cannot seem to find in this body.”

Tears had begun to slowly stream down her face and Liam wondered what pain had created such grief.

He didn’t have the right words of comfort. They didn’t exist in that moment; so he leaned closer to her and put his hand against her back. She responded to the gesture of a friend and leaned into his shoulder.

They sat that way and watched the sun slip quietly behind the ragged line of mountains.

we’d love you a lot less if you weren’t dumb.

so yeah. here we are, yet again. me slacking on the daily dime so much that i feel an apology is in order. i’ve just been so unmotivated to write as of late and it kind of sucks. i wish…oh how i wish…i had more faith in my ability to write something.

half of my inability to write comes from this nagging feeling that i have no idea what i’m doing and it’d just be easier if i left it up to those with talent (aka. the daily dimers). some days i feel like i’m just being a big baby and i need to get over myself and just write…so i do. but the next step is putting it out there for everyone, and that’s where i have difficulty. i want to continue tweaking something until it’s “fit” to post…when i know i should just post something. just get it over with.

quick like band-aid.

please bear with me while i try to grow up.

on a lighter note…or at least a different tune…i decided that i wanted to keep my daily dimes and my “regular” blogging separate, and since i have yet to make use of my blogger account, i think i’m going to be using it for said “regular” blogs. so now, if you’re bored and want to know what’s going on in my world you can go to http://snurffy.blogspot.com/ and maybe i’ll tell you. (c;

really. no shooting.

so evidently, i’m a TOTAL slacker.  i know, i know, i can hear you gasp in shock.  steph?  slacker?  Never.   just like i’m never sarcastic. 

i still really want to participate in the daily dime, but have been reluctant to jump back in b/c i’ve felt really drained lately and don’t think i can manage much to write…let alone commit to writing something every day.  so…i’m going to be a rebel and make my own rules (the boys can vote me off the island if they want…but really, they’re nice boys and i’m sure they’ll put up with my crap). 

i am going to submit to the daily dime as much as i possibly can.  it might be every day.  it might be once a week.  heck.  it could even be twice a day if i was in the mood.  but i promise it will never be less that one submission a week.

please, as always, support the boys as they continue to write, write, write, and put me to shame.  (c; 

Gabe = http://typinghurts.blogspot.com/

Todd = http://initialdraft.blogspot.com/

Cuyler = http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com/

Steve = http://tactilecontact.blogspot.com/

Arthur = http://phantomsandshadows.blogspot.com/ 


my friends, Gabe and Cuyler, have been doing a writing “contest” whereas they each have to write 1 story a day for a week.  I don’t know who the winner was, if there was a winner, or even if it mattered…but it was a cool idea and I loved to see their creativity (they’re both pretty amazing writers…you should check them out if you haven’t already.  Gabe = http://www.typinghurts.blogspot.com/ Cuyler = http://yarnfactory.blogspot.com/)

Yesterday, Gabe extended the challenge to anyone else willing to try and I think I’m going to give it a go.  We’ll see how that works out…

 creativity forthcoming…



                    that blank page.

  even moreso, a book of pages.

              waiting for genius to spill.

       waiting for life.  for blood. for hope. for sorrow. for pain. for ecstasy. for grace.

i am afraid to write sometimes.  afraid of what i’ll find out.  having an expectation for everything written to be a revelation.  scared to find out that i just might be full of it.

new relationships are like blank pages.  but they are far more terrifying.  i am my own worst critic in someone else’s eyes.  when i put myself in their shoes and look back at me, i can’t imagine what they like. 

sometimes i feel needy.  i need them to tell me that i am, in fact, worth something.  that’s why it’s so easy for me to pull away.  i retreat.  waiting for a reaction.  do they like me because they have to?  because i’m there?  if i wasn’t, would they look for me?

i have pushed so many people away this way.  if you don’t work for my friendship then you won’t get it.  but i’m a hypocrite.  do i work that hard for anyone else?  no.

                                     really, how selfish am i?

       i am in this sick cycle that i can’t break.

but what scares me the most is that i’m comfortable here.  this dysfunction is normal and i’m afraid to function outside of it.


I’m wearing my “where the wild things are” t-shirt today.  Adam noticed it and mentioned that he really liked the book when he was growing up.  I did as well…hence the t-shirt…

But, his comment got me to thinking about some of my favorite books when I was growing up, what lessons they taught and what I really enjoyed about them. 

My absolute favorite book was “Horton Hatches the Egg”.

I know, I know, not as popular as the “Horton Hears a Who”, but I think it’s the better story.  I could be biased, but let’s not think about that.  (c; 

One thing that I loved about it was the way my mother read it.  She was always very animated and made us giggle at her psycho Lazy Mayzie impression and made us smile with her warm, slow impression of the ever faithful Horton.  But the thing that really stuck with me was heart of the story.  Horton made a promise.  It was a promise to a liar, but a promise none-the-less.  He stuck by his word and was dedicated to fufill his promise despite the fact that it was made to someone who was selfish and just wanted a vacation from responsibility.  He also kept the promise amidst mocking from his peers, then a kidnapping (or would it be elephantnapping?) to a circus freak show and was mocked by crowds of strangers.  But thru all these trials, he remained faithful to his promise.  As he says “I meant what I said, I said what I meant.  An elephant’s faithful one hundred percent.” 

In the end, his faithfulness is rewarded by a little Horton (with wings!)….so, that might scare the bejezzus out of me, what with my bird phobia, (I might actually crap myself if I saw a flying elephant), but all that aside, I just love the lesson that is presented in the story. So how about you?  Do you have a favorite story from childhood?