A Very Short Story and Other Marvelous Miscellanea

 

She settled between the cold sheets and applied her lip balm as she always had done at bedtime.  Her lips welcomed that relief from parched skin, but the warmth of her body had already drained from her, leaving her shaking miserably before she could fall asleep.  She laid there awake forever, although by all accounts it probably was no more than one very agonizing hour.

Sleepiness began to claim her, and as her eyelids became dreary, and her eyelashes began to close that gap between awake and her dreams, it came to her unexpectedly, with such startling clarity that she first thought it to be her husband finally resorting to killing her. 

It was but a brief second, that dark shadow of maybe a man sweeping in from the doorway and passing by her face so closely she thought she felt it as it left her skin tingling on pins and needles. 

She laid there with the bedside lamp on, thinking about why she thought she was going to die.  No calmness came to her in the hours that followed, but she did eventually fall asleep in that golden light of her lamp.

As she became accustomed to this shadow demon visiting her at bedtime, the evil she attached to it subsided.  The way it always appeared to her was getting old, and she was becoming bored.

She learned to welcome the lamplight with open arms as she fell asleep in peace, and although her electric bill went up a notch, she could care less while she often dreamed of fifty different ways to kill a husband.

It wasn't until a few years later that she disappointedly, by mistake, realize she had been the creator of her own shadow demon.  She could only laugh at the thought she had been so easily fooled, but she never revealed it to anyone.  It was her secret, and hers alone.

She still saw the rush of that shadow pass her if the lamplight was slow to be turned on, but she and her lover had eyes only for each other, and the lamplight, along with her departed husband were totally inconsequential.  

Needless to say, they lived happily ever after, although that cliché was riddled with secrets.

~ AT THE CAR WASH ~

American Robin

No Daffodil is native, 

and I have never seen a pollinator on one.

We've removed the old daffodils once in a while,

since the garden was changed to native plants,

but it is not an easy task.

Oak Tree on a Cloudy Day

Growing in a thicket of 

Euonymus americanus, Hearts-a-burstin

Spicebush Flowers

Purple Deadnettle (Lamium purpureum)

Non-native

On the neighbor's lawn bordering our driveway.

The taller plant in the center

might be a Wormwood within the Artemisia genus

The plant mixed with the Purple Deadnettle here

is some type of Geranium

Asian Ladybug on

 Pachysandra procumbens, Allegheny Spurge

Blossoms

Cercis canadensis, Eastern Redbud

Most buds have not opened yet.

Austin on mommy's lap.

A birthday gift from my cats.

Viola sororia, Common Blue Violet

Virginia Bluebells, Mertensia virginica

Buds not open yet.

A variation of the Common Blue violet.

My favorite color.

An Old-fashioned Narcissus

Bent by the wind.

A small Blueberry Bush with flowers.

One could hear the roar of the lion as a fast moving thunderstorm plowed through with fat raindrops pounding the ground mercilessly.  Five minutes max and the rumbling roar moved off to the east and left a stillness defying what had just occurred.

Spring has kicked Winter right out the door and is making herself at home.  Her magic has set the Spicebushes to blooming, and overnight all the white and purple violets are in a maddening rush to out do each other, while the shy Virginia Bluebells are lazily peeking out from under the leaf litter.

It’s only the middle of March with the forecasted last frost date the middle of April, and I have yet to see an insect except that Asian Lady Bug that just stayed in place because the warm days play hopscotch with the cold days, and one never knows what temperature they will wake up to.

I’m hosting a Starling nest again in the Woodpecker box, and by law I could annihilate it as it isn’t native, but I’m not made of the stuff that is required to bring about that terrible action.  So I raise them, and pound on the window endlessly to chase them off the bird feeder.  The worse bird I’ve ever seen for pooping so much in the birdbath.  No manners at all.

We actually found a warm day two weeks ago and spent the afternoon sitting under the umbrella for hours, but most warm days are rainy days, and we have never had a want for a rainy day before the earth has dried out from the previously storm.  The ground is always mud in spring.

Here’s a wish for plenty of rainy days when you require them, and bright sunshine when you long for it, although I have never experienced a sky filled with raindrops as anything but incredible.   

As always, with a bit of magic, 

                                         Yvonne 

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