Sunday soul

I’m re-reading another Philip R. Craig mystery, Death on a Vineyard Beach, and came upon this:

Fishing is good for the soul, and mine felt like it needed some TLC right at the moment.

My question for you is: what do you do when your soul needs some TLC?

I tend to (in no particular order): pray, read, make a pot of tea, go out for a walk (away from people if at all possible), clean something, get out in nature, have some chocolate, write, or look at something beautiful.  A combination of any of those things is even better.  Of course, a hug and a willing ear from my husband or a good friend are a big help,too.

What about you?  What heals your soul?  I’m asking because I’d like to know, so please leave a comment and let’s have a conversation.

Friday Fictioneers–Homecoming

“Good morning, Fictioneer.  Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to write a story of  100 words, post it, then read and comment on the stories posted by other agents Fictioneers.          

This mission is not impossible. 

   As always, should you or any of your Fictioneers Force be caught or killed, Secretary Rochelle will disavow any knowledge of your actions and stories.

These instructions will self-destruct in five seconds.    

   Good luck!”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mission:_Impossible

For the first time, I’ve had a character from a previous story return.  She initially introduced herself last October in the first week Rochelle ascended to  fearless leader. This week she informed me she had more to tell.   If you’d like to read that story, you may do so through the following link, but her current story is meant to stand on its own if you choose not to:

https://sustainabilitea.wordpress.com/2012/10/24/friday-fictioneers-needs/

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Picture copyright Lora Mitchell

Homecoming

I’m emotionally mummified by the no-feeling that lies on the far side of unbearable loss, the weariness holding me at the window above the glittering city lights, crude imitations of the innumerable stars in the vastness above my cabin.  I yearn for peace filled only with nature’s sounds, the whispering creek, never-ending vistas, the night’s enveloping darkness, that space where healing begins.

Civilization’s after-death requirements are filed, discarded or buried.  I crave my friends, the cafe, tea and comfort in the corner booth where I’ve so often dispensed it.

I need my homecoming as much as my mother needed hers.

Friday Fictioneers–Warrior

Another week.  Daily, the unseen pull grows stronger, until the mid-week mirror lures us Narcissus-like to stare into its smooth surface for our inspiration.

No refuge.  The tentacles of creation wind  ’round us, dragging us inexorably toward the keyboard to satisfy the craving.  Sweet addiction!  Our drug of choice.

Go on; give in. Choose your word-weapon.  Wield it fearlessly.
You are a Fictioneer!

…..

Warrior
Genre:  Poetry


He lay, sweating, behind the rocks
           weighted down with the implements of death and survival
           always vigilant.

He returned (better off than many)
            sometimes cringing at loud noises
            enduring headaches and bad dreams.

He stood, sweating, by the barn
            the air freighted with the scent of summer
            swathed in silence.

He was good with his hands
            thought how he’d reclaim the land
            prayed it might make him sane again.

He observed a shadow overhead
            (only a hawk in this time and place
            dropping like a bomb towards lunch.)

He lay, sweating, in the fragrant grass
            mind mercifully blank
            sleeping, beginning.