5 de mayo

As one of the alleged 30 percent of Arizonans who thinks the state's proposed law banning illegal immigrants (in spite of the fact that the Anglos stole the land from them in the first place) should NOT become a state law, I'd just like to wish all of you on one side or the other a most happy Cinco de Mayo!

When I realized the date, I hied myself to a restaurant currently called "Puerto Vallarta" for a Mexican lunch and a bottle of Dos Equis Amber. The BRD and SWMBO, by the way, were lunching at a Thai restaurant. No respect, I say.

Viva Mexico!

At last

The warm weather (upper 70's) has finally arrived and the Mock Roses on the front patio have burst forth in yellow splendor.

No wonder the sun face has a smile. It echoes mine.

Calendar cat

I love this photo, and no it's not my dearly loved and departed Smoke. It's just a picture from my daily calendar.

A morning visitor

I can't help thinking doves are among nature's most stupid creatures.

Magpie 12 - Death

Yes, it is time once again for Magpie Tales . . that unmerciful excercise which Willow has willed upon us - to write something based on her photographic prompt. Well, so it is. Mine follows but if you wish to read more go to this place. You will find tales and poems of an exemplary detail. But now . . the game is on - to the prompt:

Arrrrrgggghhhhh!!!/p>

I was swimming in the clear blue water off the Turks and Caicos islands, in the Caribbean. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining golden in the sky. The water was turquoise blue. The fish gliding by me were radiant in their color . . red, orange, green, gold, purple . . blazing in the light. It was amazing.

I swam through the water as through oil, just oozing through the sea, through the light, through the schools of fish. I was happy, ecstatic even.

And then.

Something grabbed my ankle. I tried kicking it free but the grip intensified. I looked down and saw the tentacles wrapping around my lower leg. I panicked. I kicked and thrashed in the water. As I did, my breathing intensified. My head moved violently in the water and as it did, my mask came off. As I fought the grasp on my leg, I gasped and water flowed into my mouth and my throat and my lungs. I tried to cough and this only made it worse as my mouth opened and the salty sea water entered my body.

And then.

I slowly began to feel relief as my mind scattered and I became calm.

My hands clutched at the light in the sky.

And it was over.

April Fool (continued)

Are you kidding?

This was a view in Prescott, Arizona this afternoon (APRIL 29TH!!!) This is getting ridiculous.

The next four shots are between Prescott and Prescott Valley.

A Magpie Mystery

Magpie Tales are created by writers from around the world after viewing a weekly photo prompt posted by Willow. This is number eleven in the series. After reading and contemplating it, you can find links to view other submissions at Magpie Tales. And now to the mystery.

The only clue was a black wooden walking stick, capped with silver. There was engraving of some kind in the silver but it was impossible to determine what it said or what it meant. The stick had been left leaning against the the white-washed wall of the room. There was nothing else.

Montclair had lived in this room since arriving in St. Elys three weeks prior to his disappearance. He never left it in the daylight, only slipped out in the dark of night wearing a black trilby hat which matched in color the cape he also wore. No one really saw him leave or knew where he went. He was just a ghostly shadow passing by. Wherever he traveled, he was always back in his room by morning light.

His meals were left on a tray outside the door to his room and though no one saw him open the door, the empty and soiled dishes appeared back in the same place some time later.

This went on for three weeks. Then the food dishes weren’t picked up one day. The landlady knocked repeatedly on the door and called Mr. Montclair’s name but there was no answer. Finally, after calling the town constable to her establishment, the two of them unlocked the door and cautiously entered.

There was nothing. No sign that anyone had ever been living in the room. The only sign of anything out of the ordinary was that silver-capped walking stick leaning against one wall. Montclair was gone. With the exception of the walking stick he left behind it was as if he had never existed, never been there.

The landlady has kept the walking stick, waiting for its owner to return or to write or to call, asking for it. But all these years later, the request has never come. And the man in the cape and the hat known only as Montclair remains a mystery to this day.