I enjoyed doing the coffee quotes so much in October that I decided to take Christmas week to focus on chocolate in a similar way. So here’s my offering for Day 1: a chocolate cinquain.
It’s bliss
To think about.
Even more bliss to taste.
I just can’t seem to get enough:
Choc’late!
photo: courtesy of Alexas_Fotos @ pixabay.com
~
“Nicholas, is something troubling you this evening?” asked Lydia Claus, pausing in her embroidery work.
“Hmmmm?” Nick made the sound without shifting his gaze from the flames in the fireplace.
“I asked what’s wrong, Dear. You haven’t been your jolly self for almost two days.”
Nick sighed, finally looking across at his wife in her chair. “It’s Leonard, Mama.”
“Leonard? Leonard, the elder deer?”
“Yes.” Nick sighed again, but didn’t continue. He seemed lost in his own thoughts again.
“Nick,” Lydia said, putting down her embroidery and sitting up straighter in her chair. “Is Leonard sick?”
“Hmm? Oh … oh, no, he’s not sick … not exactly.”
“Well, what on earth does that mean?”
Nick reached to a little table beside his chair and picked up his pipe. He lit it, and the sweet-scented smoke curled off into the air. “Leonard isn’t sick, Mama. He’s just old … very old. And I’m afraid he can’t do any real work around here any longer. He just sort of stands around watching the younger deer – or worse – sometimes he just lies in his stall and doesn’t even get out for exercise. He feels useless I think.”
“But his son Rudolph is still your lead reindeer, and I know that’s always made Leonard so proud. He’s the one who trained Rudolph to fly and to maneuver so beautifully. In fact, he trained almost all of your teams, didn’t he?”
“Oh, yes. He’s been more valuable to me than almost any other deer in our herd, but he doesn’t feel up to training the younger deer any longer. I’ve had to turn that job over to his younger cousin Archibald.”
“Oh, dear. I wish there were something I could do.”
“Me too,” Nick said, rising and heading toward the kitchen. “But perhaps I’ll think of something soon.”
(Next day. In the stable.)
“Leonard,” said Gladys Reindeer, “I wish you wouldn’t feel so sad. After all, look at all the teams of reindeer you’ve trained for Santa over the years. You should feel proud and just enjoy your time of rest.”
“Rest! Bah! I have to sit by and watch that whippersnapper Archy take my place as Santa’s right-hand. It’s degrading … humiliating … and worse … it’s terribly depressing.”
“But you can still give the elves rides and help with hauling the smaller toys from the toyshop to the warehouse for storage. It’s not as if you don’t do anything.”
“It’s not the same, Gladys. There are scores of other reindeer on the place who can do all that. And they do. In fact, they can do it all faster, and most days they’re already on the job before I can get my old bones and muscles moving. I just wish there were something I could do again that was special.”
“Well, my dear” – Gladys nuzzled his nose – “you will always be very special to me – and to Rudolph. And just think of our son. He’s become so famous, and he’s so good at what he does … and he gives you all the credit – rightly so, I might add.”
“Oh, he’s a source of pride, all right. It’s gratifying to see how well he’s done. But it doesn’t change my feeling of uselessness now.” Leonard plodded out of the stable, his head hanging low.
“Where are you going, dear?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I think I’ll go for a walk in the forest. I do always feel a little better when I listen to the Redbirds sing for a while.”
Leonard walked slowly through the forest, stopping now and then to rest and listen to the sounds of all the other creatures he’d come to know and love. He hadn’t heard any Redbirds in song today, but as he moved farther into the woods, he heard a cacophony of bird voices that troubled him.
He followed the sounds to a huge Spruce tree where one of his favorite Redbird friends had her home. But something strange was happening today. Several men in hard hats were surrounding the tree, examining it. Off to the side sat a huge truck with a long flatbed on the back. Suddenly, one of the men pulled a lever on the machine he held in his hands, and the machine started groaning loudly enough to hear it on the other side of the forest.
At that moment, Leonard’s Redbird friend swooped down toward the man, screeching and acting as though she would attack him. A couple of her friends did the same. One of the other men picked up a large stick and started swinging at the birds.
Leonard couldn’t believe his eyes. He hurried over to the scene and called out to his friend. “What’s wrong?” He asked. “Can I help?”
“Oh, Leonard,” the Redbird cried, flying over to him, “I don’t know what to do! These men are going to cut down my tree and use it for the Christmas tree in the center of town. But my nest is there, and my little babies are just about to hatch. I can’t let them cut down my home and kill my babies. But I can’t get them moved to a safe place without building another nest, and that will take too long. What can I do? What can I do?’
The chainsaw had stopped momentarily, while the men talked together, but now it started up again. Leonard thought quickly. “I know!” he said. “I will come and lift your nest onto my antlers and carry it away safely.”
“That’s very kind of you, and it would get my babies out of the tree, but where can I put them? It will take me at least three days to build a new nest anywhere – and that’s if I can find the materials. Wild animals will find my babies and eat them before I can get it done.”
“No they won’t. I will keep the nest in my antlers until you build another nest. You can sit on your eggs in your nest, and when your babies are hatched, you can feed them and take care of them just the way you always do. I have nothing else I have to do these days, and I will enjoy being useful.
“Oh my, what a great friend you are. How can I ever thank you?”
“There’s no need. In fact, I’m the one who’s grateful. I was feeling rather useless lately, and it’s a wonderful thing to know that I am not useless after all. I can be a help to my friends. And, in fact, when you have your new nest built and have moved into it, I think I’ll go walking through the forest every day looking for other friends to help. There must be many things I can do for them if I just set my mind to it.” He grinned at Redbird. “You’ve helped me see that I have a future with unlimited possibilities.”
The chainsaw had stopped again, and the men were measuring something. “Come on,” said Leonard, “let’s hurry and go around to the other side where your nest is. I’ll burrow my way between the branches and lift off the nest, and you can make sure it’s settled safely. Then we’ll go back to Santa’s stable, and you and your babies can enjoy Christmas with Gladys and me. She will be so pleased to have guests for Christmas Day.”
If you enjoyed this story, think about checking out my Christmas anthology: Stocking Full Of Stories. It includes this story as well as 10 other stories for the season. It’s available from Amazon in digital or paperback.
~~~
I wrote this one a few years ago, but it’s just so darn cute that I can’t resist another go ’round for it. Besides that, it fits today’s ‘Daily Post Prompt: Mercy.‘
WHAT’S FOR DINNER?
I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.
It’s happened thus, in passing years —
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I’ve set my mind;
He’s been there to greet me.
Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!
So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why, once again this year,
Ham will greet the carving knife.
◊◊◊
My photographer friend, Terry Valley (Visions Seen Photography) loves photographing the little details in nature, and he has some great shots of mushrooms. I’ve shared a couple of them here. And I’ve also shared some graphic art Terry did, using the mushroom theme. Naturally, writer that I am, I had to create a story to go along with that artwork. I actually wrote the story about 4 years ago, but I decided it deserved another airing for this prompt.
Terry’s Graphics and My Story: WHAT IF . . . ?
“What’s the latest report,” Oneida asked Tron.
“The planet Verdure is still in a state of internal combustion,” he replied, his face pinched. He looked at the camera relay screen. “Watching that planet disintegrate right before my eyes and knowing I can’t stop it is tearing my guts out.”
“How long do we have?”
“I’ll know more when Beryl and Oma return. They’re out measuring the light levels in the power garden.”
“That red gas is our main enemy?”
“Yes, as our energy pods absorb it the light energy that holds this planet together is drained off.”
He panned the camera across the power garden of mushroom-shaped growths from which the planet drew all of its life – and its name. “See, how many of the healthy purple pods have absorbed the gas until they have turned red and shrunk to half their original size?”
He panned to the pod where Oma and Beryl were still at work. Oneida spoke. “Look, Oma’s starting to descend. Maybe they’ll be back with their report soon.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I want to hear it. Sometimes, I think we should turn off all the surveillance equipment so we can’t see it all happening one step at a time. Perhaps we should all just gather in the communal hall and do our best to comfort each other until it comes.”
“Until the end comes, do you mean?”
“Of course! What else?”
She looked at him gravely. “I’ve been thinking ….”
“Yes …?”
“Well … I’ve been wondering … Did we just happen?” Tron looked at her quizzically. “I mean … well … I find it hard to believe this whole planet of Mushroom just happened – and that all of us who live here were non-existent one second and then – bang – here we were!” She looked at him hopefully.
“I don’t think I’m following you. What does it have to do with Verdure’s decomposition and the subsequent destruction of everything within its electro-magnetic sphere – including us?”
“Don’t you see? If we didn’t just … happen … then someone or something more intelligent, more creative, more powerful than ourselves had to have created us. And if that someone cared enough to make us, then wouldn’t it – or he – care enough to save us?
Tron’s eyes grew large. Oneida could see that it was a concept he’d never imagined. But now … with no other possible avenue of hope … perhaps even he thought it was worth considering.
She continued. “I guess I’m wondering if we were to look back in all the records of Mushroom – especially the copies of those old black books the leaders buried underground last century ….”
“You mean you think there might be answers to our origins in those books? But the leaders insisted that they were lies and made it illegal for any citizen of Mushroom to read them.”
“But what if we could find out … and find a way to connect with our … creator –”
“That’s impossible!”
“Is it? Our survival is impossible as we are now. But, just think, Tron … what if …?”
~~~
CHAPTER ONE
Deanna Forbes sat straight in the uncomfortable wooden chair. She kept her shoulders back and her right leg crossed over her left knee, making sure to hold her foot perfectly still. That effort, along with the pleasant expression on her face, cost her considerable energy, but she was a strong-willed woman and had had a lot of practice at maintaining proper demeanor.
Her ash blond hair, blunt cut to just below her jawline, was shiny smooth and added to her cool, collected composure. Only her gray eyes darted from place to place, taking in all the details of her surroundings and keeping up with her rapidly shifting thoughts.
“Now, Ms Forbes,” Detective Simon Stone addressed her from the opposite side of the table where they sat in the interrogation room. Her eyes focused totally on him as he continued. “I have here your earlier statement that you were with friends at a private party the evening Peter Crandell was shot, but so far, our office hasn’t been able to make contact with any of these – uh – friends.” As he said the last word, his left eyebrow lifted in a question, and his blue eyes pinned her.
The implication that real friendship was somewhat lacking here wasn’t lost on Deanna, but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from focusing on those eyes – well – on his whole appearance, which was commandingly attractive: dark complexion, black, wavy hair, and strong brows – all accented by the most brilliantly blue eyes she’d ever seen on a man. This meeting was the second time she’d sat with Simon Stone for questioning, and both times his extravagant good looks and his virile, no-nonsense manner, coupled with a surprisingly melodious voice, had interfered with her efforts to concentrate. That wasn’t good — not good at all. She needed all her wits about her for this one.
“Well, Detective Stone, as I explained in my original statement, it was a bon voyage party, and two of the couples were sailing that night. The other two couples live in Montrose, some 100 miles from here, so God only knows where they may be by this week. Besides – as I also said previously – you won’t find anyone who honestly thinks I had a motive for killing Peter Crandell. Why on earth would I want poor Peter dead?”
“I don’t know that you did want him dead, Ms Forbes. But right now we can’t rule out anyone who knew him, and an alibi for your whereabouts at the time of death is crucial.” There was a knock at the door of the interrogation room, and Stone got up to answer it. After the briefest whispered conversation, he turned to Deanna. “Excuse me a moment, Ms Forbes. I’ll be right back with you.” He then stepped out into the hall to continue the conversation.
After a good five minutes, he returned with a smile on his face. “Well, good news: “ he said, closing the door and returning to his seat at the table, “our men have finally made contact with one of the couples from the bon voyage party. They have corroborated your alibi completely, so it looks as though you’re free to go. I’m sorry we had to detain you so long.”
Deanna smiled widely. “That is good news, Detective. And I’m glad to know you think so too. I’d hate to have you believe I was guilty of such a terrible act as shooting someone.”
“Just because we question a person doesn’t necessarily mean we believe they committed the crime, Ms Forbes. But in cases like this, there are usually a number of people who are possible suspects until we can find good reason to eliminate them from the list.”
“I understand, Detective Stone. But I want to make sure I have the facts right: You are saying that your department no longer consider me a suspect in the shooting of Peter Crandell. Is that correct?”
Stone smiled. “You are correct, Ms Forbes,” he said and rose from his chair.
Deanna rose as well, and on a sudden impulse, she said, “Well … now that we’ve got all that matter cleared up, I wonder if you might consider having dinner with me tomorrow evening, Detective Stone. I feel I’d like to get to know you better.”
Stone’s first response was one of surprise, but it registered only momentarily. His easy smile replaced it, a smile that reached his eyes, and Deanna suddenly realized that it was that smile that came from deep inside of him that made him particularly attractive.
“I should be free tomorrow evening ─ barring some unexpected homicide, that is,” he said with a grin. “Do you have a particular place in mind?”
“I like dining at The Captain’s Table in the restored lighthouse a little south of the city. Do you know it?”
“Yes, I’m familiar with it. I enjoy it myself. Shall I pick you up?”
“It’s probably better if I meet you there. Say 7:00?”
“Fine. I’ll look forward to it, Ms Forbes.”
Deanna smiled widely again. “Why don’t you just call me Dee? All my friends do, and I think we could become friends now that this nasty murder business is behind us.”
“Well, then, Dee,” he said moving to the door and holding it open for her, “I’ll see you at The Captain’s Table at 7:00 tomorrow evening.”
“Good bye Detective Stone.” She smiled again and gave him a questioning look. “Perhaps you’ll give me permission to call you Simon when we meet for dinner.”
“Perhaps I shall,” he answered with a teasing grin. Deanna turned and walked out of the office and exited the police station without looking back. Keeping her back straight and her head up was second nature to her; smiling at everyone she passed didn’t come quite so naturally. However, she was determined not to let that smile slip until she was well out of sight of any law enforcement officers.
Simon Stone returned to his own desk and filled out his report on the interrogation – but he didn’t sign off on it. Instead, he entered Deanna Forbes’ name into a data base he used only when the normal sites failed to give him satisfactory information. He waited, holding his breath.
In the meantime, Deanna Forbes sat behind the wheel of her Lexus. Driving back to her home, she questioned her own sanity. Why on earth had she invited Simon Stone to dinner? Well, she knew the answer on the surface, of course: he was stunning, sexy, and captivating. He was also dangerous, but she had lived with danger most of her life.
Having been raised by a drunken father who came home to beat up on his wife and two kids on a regular basis ─ and then living with a grandmother who ran a gambling casino, with all the attending crime element casinos attracted ─ she was no stranger to dealing with danger and its threats to her own peace and security. In fact, sometimes she wondered if she had become too comfortable with danger. Maybe that’s why she’d never stuck with any relationships in the past that didn’t carry with them any kind of threat.
She shrugged her shoulders now. Oh well, her die was cast. She was having dinner with a man who, up until an hour ago, had considered her a possible murderer. Come to think of it, he hadn’t told her which couple had corroborated her alibi for that night. Of course, all six of the other guests had been so drunk that they couldn’t have been sure about who was there and who wasn’t.
One thing about most of her friends: they were so irresponsible in their own lives that they didn’t think twice about checking up on anyone else to make sure they weren’t doing something they shouldn’t be doing. It would never occur to them that one of their guests might have slipped away from the group long enough to put old Peter away and slipped right back into the crowd as if nothing had transpired except a trip to the bathroom.
The mystery continues in book #1 of the Simon Stone Detective Series.
Read all of INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY. Available in paperback and digital at Amazon.
~~~
I must compose a witty little ditty.
It’s for the daily posty prompty thingy.
The problem is the prompt’s so very ‘daily,’
But I will meet the challenge of it gaily.
Now, to choose a subject for my ditty.
I don’t want it to sound too flighty-flitty.
Perhaps I’ll write of love — so very pretty,
Or courage in the face of danger — gritty.
No, on the other hand, this little prompty
Is starting now to aggravate my tummy.
So maybe I’ll hold off and have a thinky,
Before I write this posty prompty thingy.
~~~
`
Dear Nita,
I simply have no sympathy for you.
You’ve played loose and wild for many years.
Stolen hearts and broken homes amassed;
You’ve been the fear of many wives for years.
I simply have no sympathy for you.
In my opinion — and in those I hear —
You’ve fin’ly gotten justice rightly earned,
And you’re the one, at last, drowning in tears.
~~~
Composed in memory of my dearest friend, who went from this life 10 days ago — much too soon and too quickly: Kent Bartholomew Mann (1957-2017).
[Daily Post Prompt: Priceless]
~~~
Busy
Both day and night.
No time for normal stuff
Like keeping up to date with blogs.
Sorry.
Hopeful
That very soon
Stressful pace will slow down
And I can visit online friends.
Miss you.
~~~
What a glaring mistake I have made.
But I hadn’t seen Ben for two years.
And he — oops, I mean she — hadn’t said —
Not a word of this change did I hear.
We were meeting old high school classmates:
A reunion of sorts — just a few.
And since Ben Hall and I had been friends,
I was hoping friendship to renew.
But as soon as I entered the room —
I could not see my friend anywhere —
All at once I was grabbed and hugged tight
By this big-bosomed gal with blond hair.
She pulled back and smiled, and I glared.
Bernice Hall was the name on her tag,
Then my brain saw the light, and I said,
“Ben, why have you come here in drag?”
Oh, but no, I was soon to find out
That Ol’ Ben had had surgery done.
Said he just couldn’t resist a change,
Because big-bosomed blonds have more fun.
What a glaring disgrace and abomination we have given place to in our society now. There will be a price to pay, and we will see hundreds of bodies mutilated and hundreds of lives destroyed in the next decade as a result.
Click HERE to visit Daily Post and learn how to participate in the challenge.
~~~
Be sure to use your toothbrush every day.
Or if you use it twice a day, that’s better yet.
Because if you will clean your teeth a lot,
Then when you see the dentist, you won’t have to fret.
Of course, it’s wise to floss as well as brush,
And then, after the flossing, we should always rinse
With something that will kill bacteria.
I guess with all the gunk we eat, it does make sense.
Anyway, I’m giving this advice —
The same advice my mommy always gave to me.
So hopefully, you won’t lose any teeth,
But keep a brilliant smile for everyone to see.
To participate in today’s challenge, visit Daily Post.
~~~
Sometimes treasures lie deep-buried,
‘Neath eons of soil and time,
Long resisting human efforts
To unearth and cleanse from grime.
But then there are rare occasions
When a prize will come to light
Resting beneath shallow waters
Waiting childhood’s keenest sight.
To the toddler on adventure,
Holding onto daddy’s hand,
Tide-smoothed pebbles, multicolored,
Constitute a treasure grand.
To participate in today’s prompt visit Daily Post.
~~~
I’m not an avid bridge photographer, but I do love to photograph rivers. And even though the bridge does not show in this picture, there is one here. I was standing on it when I made this shot. So I figure it counts.
~~~
The Happy Wordcrafter 