Girl from the pond – a short story Jon Hillenbrand, July 11, 2012December 30, 2015 There I stood looking upon the pond. And before me arose a mist from the shimmering surface like gold leaf on an Egyptian statue. Across the mist there arose a gentle bird whose wings spread across the water and sent ripples across the pond. The fish rose up to meet the wind and basked in the bird’s glory. As I stared into the sun, this bird flew slowly toward me. She spread her wings and as the sun strained to reach past them, the beams of light created a city behind me in the sand from which a thousand generations rose and fell like the coming and going of the rain. The bird started to lower herself on the wind like a parachute and from her body two long human legs emerged and touched softly at the shore before me. I reached out my hand but the girl just stared at it. I wasn’t sure if she was mute or spoke a language I would never understand. But as we regarded each other, we spoke to each other through our eyes and between us a wind was created that powered a thousand ships for a thousand years. The sea behind her started to ripple as the fish protested their jealousy And the water rose up a thousand meters into the air. A giant wave threatened to overturn the boats and submerge the city behind me. But the girl rose her hand, with feathers falling from her arms, and all around her the people of the ships and the city and the fish in the sea joined together in a song rejoicing her beauty and glory. The sun was so happy that it created the moon just so she would always be illuminated. As the moon rose, it controlled the sea which fell back down level. The boats returned and the fish were satisfied. The people of the city held a festival and fireworks flew into the sky As the girl flew up and smiled down upon the land. Poetry confusionimagerylanguageLeen AbozahablovephotographypoempoemsPoetrypondstoryswimmingwomenwriting
Poetry Ascendancy October 8, 2008December 30, 2015 The rain falls down the glass, time-worn cracks tracing the road map of my life. Practical considerations have no ascendancy in the pointed monologue of memory or the inner dialog of reason. I can see the light coming through my bathroom window and dancing like music alighting on glistening copper… Read More
Poetry True Colors August 18, 2010December 30, 2015 Would that the man on the moon were a lonely fellow, perhaps reclining against the slope of some great crater, he might say that he had more insight under the print of his thumb than all of the Earthling extrospection gleamed from upon the snowy vantage of Everest. Perhaps he… Read More
Poetry Discovering your tiger face February 28, 2009April 27, 2018 There once was a tiger that lived in the jungle. She gave birth to a baby tiger cub, but then she died, leaving her cub alone in the world. The little cub went out searching for a mother. Read More