Category: writing

writing

Snowy Owl Lane – Finding Home

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

Part One

In the foothills of the Rockies lied a small gravel road. To one side, a grove of trees stood tall. An old set of posts with rusted barbed wire strands ran along the main road in front of the grove, then suddenly stopped at the corner of the gravel road. To the other side, a meadow spread over a hill where wild flowers grew in late spring and early summer.

Suzy and Steve pulled up and stopped their car on the main road, looking over the plot of land. An old sign marking it for sale hung haphazardly from its one remaining chain and clanged against the pole. The location had a view she loved. The Rockies rose from behind what appeared to be a wooded area at the back of the plot. She had painted a similar place, crudely, from her imagination years earlier.

They decided to explore the land, driving down the road and hitting a pothole now and then. The road took a small turn to the left before it ended. They stopped, and they stared. A simple home with a garage sat way back, hidden from the view from the main road by the small hill where the flowers grew. The trees at the back of the property shaded a small creek running along side.

It was exactly as Suzy imagined. It was perfect. She wondered how she imagined this place so accurately all those years ago.

They climbed out of their vehicle and walked over to the babbling water. Small fairy-like pools where they could relax dotted the creek and overall it was shallow with a rocky and sandy bottom. A weathered picnic table sat nearby with a perfect view. She envisioned adding a hammock for them to cuddle in under the shade on relaxing summer days.

Steve stepped behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “This is the place, isn’t it?” he whispered in her ear.

She crossed one of her arms and held his hand as she shook her head yes. “I think so.”

She led him over to the house, checking out the outdoor setup for cooking out, then walked around the home, peeking in the windows. The house was fairly modern, with a great kitchen and a perfect living area. A porch stretched around three sides of the home with plenty of room for outdoor seating.

Suzy’s face gave it all away. She knew this is where they should be. But she was not sure he was convinced. She wanted them both to feel it, to know it’s where they belonged. She knew how it felt to be a stranger in your own home, so it was important to her that Steve felt connected as well.

They got back into the car, and drove back towards the main road to head back to the city. Suzy watched the wildflowers waving in the wind, almost as if they said come back soon. She looked back in the side mirror at the house fading away in the distance.

Steve stopped the vehicle suddenly. The brakes strained under the pressure, and gravel scattered. They both sat in awe of what they saw in front of them. A snowy owl perched on the pole at the corner where the gravel met the pavement. Steve looked at her and slowly spoke in an amazed tone, “This is it. This is home. Let’s make an offer.”

This is Snowy Owl Lane.

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writing

Sledding

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

The little girl waddled up the snow pile, protected from head to toe.

Her snowsuit was thick, making it hard to bend her arms and legs.

Her little red disk bounced against the snow as she drug it up the hill.

She reached the top, ready to head down, seeking a fun little thrill.

Her dad hollered from below, make sure you stay in the snow.

The divots were slick and iced over, more for the older kids.

She sat down on the red disk and pushed herself off.

Holding on tight, she skidded down. The ride was a little rough.

But she finished it and said she wanted to go again.

So she waddled up the hill and prepared herself once more.

She started herself off in the powdery white snow,

But veered off course, gripping tight her handles, oh no!

She slid into a divot, iced over and hard,

The sled bucked into the air and crashed down,

Then rocketed off super fast and broke free,

Only finally stopping when it hit a tree.

You’re okay, you’re okay her father screamed,

Half reassuring himself, half scared out of his wits.

She giggled, all was okay from head to toe.

But the sled broke, no longer fit for snow.

Another installment for my Christmas in July. Hope you enjoyed it!

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writing

Swans in the Mist – Part Two

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

Reposted from April, 2021 – Refresher for Part Three

Charlotte startled herself awake. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Nothing looked familiar. The walls were made of wood logs. The crackling fire in front of her looked unreal, no wood, no flame, just warmth, a glowing light and a tinny sound.

She sat up and realized her clothes had been changed. Some sort of odd tartan patterned button down in what looked like a dressing gown.

“Oh good. You’re awake!” a sweet voice spoke to her from behind. She was startled to hear another person’s voice, full of a strange drawl. “Henry, she’s awake!” she called out. “Here dear, have some tea. I’m Sarah,” she stated as she sat in the neighboring chair, handing her a cuppa with cream and sugar.

Charlotte took a sip. The tea was way stronger than she was used to. “Wow, what type of tea is this? How did I get here? Where are my clothes?”

Sarah smiled and understood her confusion. Charlotte wasn’t the first visitor they had entertained. “First, dear, what is your name? Then I’ll answer all the questions I can.”

“My name is Charlotte. Now, answer my questions please!” Charlotte looked down, then felt her left thigh. Sarah saw her reach for her dagger.

“Hi Charlotte. My name is Sarah. Don’t worry first of all. Your dagger is safely stored, for all of our safety. I found it when I unraveled your tattered dress from your legs. The fabric was wrapped around your leg quite tight and we were concerned it would harm you. Unfortunately, your skirt will not be salvagable. Your blouse and bloomers are in the wash.” Sarah drew out the word wash, it sounded more like warsh. “Don’t worry, Henry turned around. He didn’t see anything. We girls need to stick together.”

Charlotte was apprehensive, but Sarah seemed genuine. Sarah was dressed simply, some sort of soft clothed shirt and dungarees, nothing Charlotte had ever seen a woman wear. Sarah seemed to be in her forties, grey streaks ran through her dark curly and short hair.

“As for the tea, it is a Chai Latte with vanilla. Do you like it?”

Charlotte smiled, “It is more flavorful than what I normally drink.”

Sarah flashed a knowing smile. “And, to how you got here…we are not sure. We found you out by Cygnet Lake. You were passed out on the bench and looked to be in rough shape. We brought you home to help.”

“Home? My family owns the land in this area, acres of it. Are you one of our neighbors?” Charlotte grew confused.

Sarah smiled faintly. She hated this part of discussions with their visitors. She needed backup to help Charlotte understand. “Henry, could you join me please?”

The clunk of boots came down the hall. Six-foot three Henry entered the room. Charlotte stood and turned to greet him. In front of her stood a handsome man in his forties with short graying hair with her father’s face.

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writing

Swans in the Mist – Part One

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

Reposted from April, 2021 – Refresher for Part Three

Charlotte stood in the middle of the sprawling garden of her family’s country home, looking over the small fountain’s flowing water. The smell of jasmine, lavender, and roses filled the air. Charlotte tugged at her bodice; its boning digging in to her waist. Her flowing skirt of silk brocade floated out over her bloomers. She never enjoyed wearing formal dresses and didn’t understand why it was so necessary, especially when they were not entertaining.

She spied a small orange butterfly and walked towards it, around some rose bushes and other shrubs. Why couldn’t she be free like her little visitor? She twirled the neck tie of her blouse. Oh, how she longed to be free of all her family’s expectations. Currently they were trying to match her, and she was tired of meeting suitors who didn’t suit her at all.

The butterfly floated towards an arched pathway. Two cement swan planters sat at the entrance, full of blooming flowers. Charlotte followed the butterfly down the path. She had never been this way, and looked forward to a new discovery and a distraction for herself.

As she walked the trail, a light mist started to fill the floor. An owl cried out in the distance. The noises from the forest frightened Charlotte. She reached through a pocket of her outer skirt and felt for her dagger strapped to her left leg. She learned to protect herself growing up, there were too many rogues willing to kidnap and harm members of her family. She felt the cold steel hilt; it calmed her.

She continued down the path. Fallen branches tugged at her heavy skirt. One snagged it, ripping a small patch of the deep red fabric. Her boots peeked out from the hem of her skirt. A cobbler made them to her specifications, brown with crossing straps, and tall enough to cover her calves, to just below her knees. They protected her legs from the scratching undergrowth of the trail.

As she continued to walk, she lost her footing and slid down an embankment. The only thing stopping her from falling into the ravine below was her skirt which had become entangled on twigs and branches. She dangled briefly, reaching for a nearby tree trunk and struggling to get her footing. Finally, she found a hold to pull herself up, but her snagged skirt would not let her move further. At least she could now firmly stand without slipping.

Luckily, her left hand was free. She reached for her dagger, pulled it out, and began slicing away at the silk. Her mother would be furious, but which was more important — her dress or her life? Finally, she freed herself and climbed up onto the tree trunk.

The trunk spanned the ravine, but Charlotte had lost her sense of direction during the fall. She saw two trails, one on each end as she sat on the trunk. She decided to take the closer one as that seemed to be the correct one. Carefully she traversed the trunk and stepped back on the trail.

With her skirt in tatters, and the bodice still digging in, she took her dagger and slid it under the strapping in the bodice. Her maid had tied the strapping in such a way she could not get out otherwise. Finally, as the straps loosened, she took in a deep breath and her blouse floated away from her skin, allowing her to relax, and the bodice fell to the forest floor.

She turned in the direction she believed to be back home. The trail continued to turn, but did not seem familiar. Finally, in the distance, she noticed an arched opening. She picked up her pace, ready to be home. But, when she reached the opening, home was not what she saw.

Her jaw dropped. Before her was a lake, covered with mist. Swans floated nearby. By the lake was a small bench. She sat down to take in the view and to rest up before heading back up the trail. As she watched the swans, her eyes grew heavy and she succumbed to slumber.

Two shadows in the form of a woman and a man approached the bench. The woman checked Charlotte’s pulse and alertness. She was completely out, but alive. The woman nodded her head at the man. The man slipped his hands under Charlotte’s back and knees, picking her up, and holding her close to his chest. The shadows then disappeared back into the mist with Charlotte in tow.

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writing

Decorating the Tannenbaum

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

Little white lights brighten the tree, as ornaments dangle from each branch.

Thoughtfulness goes into decorating, each treasure unwrapped and admired before hanging.

Some are decades old, filled of memories of childhood and long ago,

Others are newer, highlighting travels and favorite places.

Bells and snowflakes are a must. The jingling of the bells brings delight,

and the crystal and porcelain snowflakes, a collection through the years.

A touch of wildlife, birds, and deer when the theme is nature bound,

Shells, dolphins and turtles when the sea begins to call.

But every ornament is unique and special in its own way.

It’s a joy to put them up, bringing smiles all around.

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poetry, writing

Good Night

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

by Carl Sandburg

Many ways to say good night.

Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July
      spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.
They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit.
Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue
      and then go out.

Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack mushrooming a white pillar.

Steamboats turn a curve in the Mississippi crying a baritone that crosses lowland 
cottonfields to razorback hill.

It is easy to spell good night.
            Many ways to spell good night.

This poem is in the public domain.

To celebrate the 4th of July, I chose to share this Carl Sandburg’s poem instead of trying to come up with my own.

I learned of Carl Sandburg as a child in Chicago. The first part of this poem reminds me of fireworks over the city, imagining what it was like downtown to see them at Navy Pier. As a kid, I’d lay atop my dresser, (…I was six or seven…) and look out the windows in the corner of my room, watching the fireworks display from a near by forest preserve.

Happy Independence Day, USA!

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writing

Star-Crossed Heroes

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

He was her Steve Trevor, her Superman.

Now she’s lost in a marvelous universe

living with the Hulk,

while Clark has his Lois Lane.

This world is foreign to her soul,

But she remains all the same.

The Hulk shows he needs her and wants her,

He’s gentle and kind; a really good man.

She’s grateful Clark found his Lois,

Lois could give him so much more

than she ever could. But still,

he was her Steve Trevor, her Superman,

and that can never be forgotten

by his Amazonian Princess.

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writing

“Christmas Eve/Sarajevo” – TSO

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

It’s Christmastime. She’s sitting in the drive, windows rolled up, air conditioning going full blast. She’s in no hurry to go in to entertain the family sitting in the living room. There’s time for that. For now, she needs to listen.

The music starts to play…purely instrumental, purely orchestral, purely rock. Some may be shocked; it’s her second favorite holiday song behind Fogelberg’s “Same Old Lang Syne”. She reaches for the volume and turns it up, as loud as her car speakers can handle. The windows and mirror begin to vibrate.

Carol of the Bells and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen are amped up and electrifying. She closes her eyes. She feels the beat and moves her hands against the steering wheel before her.

She’s transported to another place, frozen over, snow falling, a vision of an eerily silent place fills her mind….a far distance away from the hot Florida holiday. She gets lost in the sounds for three and a half minutes.

The song closes. She breathes, and turns off the car. Time to see the family.

It’s that time of year, where thoughts of cooler weather and the holidays start in my world…Christmas in July. Growing up, my dad would pull out his tapes, and later, CDs, and begin playing holiday music this month. I’ll be sharing various snippets this month in honor of his memory. I hope you enjoy this a little blast of Winter as the summer heat settles in.

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writing

Title Bound

Posted on by Dawn Renee Miller

Magic, do you feel it in the air?

The hair standing up on your neck,

the electricity coursing through your veins.

Hearts pounding like thunder.

Excitement as the stick hits the puck.

Screaming ensues as it flies across the ice.

Thunder Bug enlivens the crowd.

They rally on some more,

fighting for time in the rink.

Checking and charging,

breakaways and more.

He shoots! He scores!

Let’s Go Lightning!

Let’s Go Lightning!

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