Farewell

It has been a long time coming, and since I don’t like good-byes I’ll use the term farewell. Many of you know I’m not here much anyway but I need to take it a step further and make it official. I’m retired from blogging.

There are a few reasons. My wife’s health hasn’t changed, and she is still receiving treatment. Love is stronger than fear though.

I’ve decided to do more studying. Many of you that have been with me for a while know, that I love anthropology. What is anthropology? The study of people. I’m also studying gender. Yes. Gender.

We all need and enjoy healing and positivity. I have written that way for a long time. That’s how I used to write though. It’s beautiful but that’s not who I am now. Now I write more like the Emma stories, edgy females that don’t take crap from anyone!

Adding a little supernatural is always fun too. Is there an Emma novel waiting to be written? Absolutely.

Finally the extremism from the far-right is the most dangerous element our country has faced in a very long time. The threat is from the right… not the left. The most the left will do is spend your money.

In a few years we may not have democracy. It’s called fascism. I could rant and rave about this all day on a separate blog, but I simply don’t have time. Yes it does affect my writing.

Finally and most importantly is to say thank you! I cannot thank you enough! Some of you have been with me a long time. I’m in tears as I write this part.

Thank you!

If you don’t mind I’d like to hang around once in a while, visiting.

I wish you peace.

Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed

Emma on the Border

The French cuisine was exquisite along the border. Emma reached for her steak knife, cutting deeply

into the honey glazed chicken, as she was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight in a quiet corner of the café. The meal reminded her of a certain general who always wanted her, honey glazed

The plan worked.

show ‘em a little leg, have him caught in a web of a beautiful seduction, and before he could be her champion… she called forth the wolves,

he learned his deadly mistake as he quivered on the marble steps. She had towered over him

another Nazi leader decimated,

eliminated,

then fertilizing the moss covered soil that would one day carry Allied tanks.

Emma poured herself another glass of wine, smiling sardonically, looking at her reflection in the shine of her steak knife. Then she cut deeply again into the honey glazed chicken, while a wolf howled in the distance.

She would never be the victim of anyone.

It was 1941.

Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed

Emma on the Train

If the spirits of the poets are subject to the poets

then the spirits of wolves are subject to the moon,

and Madrid never gave away any of her treasures

because there were too many vampires

in Belgium,

night clouds cascading

into dark poetry.

It was 1941.

Narrator: Emma wrote these notes on the back of a napkin, while taking the train to Paris.

Writing and Image © Copyright 2022 rivers renewed