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" He understood the difference. Any man who knew the African meaning of the cowries I had scattered on the grave understood and appreciated the difference." http://africaimports.com/cowrieshell.asp

I do believe a Kindly Spirit might have shared their " omniscient" power with Sandra Proto. Every poem in wrapped up in life with omniscient eyes is wise and beautiful and sometimes sorrowful rather than happy. What matters is whenever I opened this book my body fleshed out with purpose and love of life. Each poem is one I want to reread on another day in another month and another season. I think most girls love their fathers in a special way. Sandra Proto captures an almost photographic rendering of a father in a poem titled Oh, what a memory I have of you( in memory of my father). This is the part of the poem I like best. When you took us for a spin and swerved smoothly around the bend, It was like sailing. I held onto the back door like a railing.  Those lines reminded me of my father whom I loved to ride with in his blue Falcon Ford . The memories rushed back because of the words in this poem. I could see the Schuylkill River as it rushed pass the front pa

Write a paragraph or short story that begins with orange and ends with turquoise. Orange soda was left on the store counter. It was opened. Maybe two sips had been taken from the bottle. Beside the orange soda there was a banana cream donut. Maybe two bites had been eaten. A fly flew over the donut and landed. The cashier became terribly upset. She yelled. "Who left their food and soda up here on my counter?" If it's yours, come and get it now! If you don't, I'm trashing all of it." There were only two people in the store at the time. There was a mailman wearing his uniform shorts because it was about a hundred degrees. The other person was a Senior woman who was coming up the aisle with a loaf of bread and a jar of coffee. Jean's scream must have scared her. She dropped the jar of coffee. It rolled under the soup shelves. She asked the mailman, "Would you mind picking up my jar of coffee? I just can't bend any more without my knees hurtin

If I had the chance to ask Mr. Mosley a question, I would ask this one. Are you passionate about Art? There are a few examples about Art in this mystery. As usual, his writing is superb.  " It was a big cubical room, with four identical large blue sofas that faced one another across a solid-glass coffee table set upon shiny golden globes. Embedded in the thick plate of crystal was a six-by-eight blue painting of a Negro musician playing a fanciful horn. He was sitting in a chair in a lopsided room. There was a broom leaning sadly in the corner. This was an unknown Picasso. " " We followed the maid into a room that had a ceiling only twenty feet high. The centerpience dominating this chamber was a dark metal sculpture of two wrestlers, almost certaily wrought by Rodin. ... There were no windows in this room and the walls were charcoal gray. The only lights were yellowy spots that showed highlights of the brilliant forms exhibited by the sculpture. I didn't

At the beginning of each chapter is a quote. Since I have a fondness for Robert Frost , I could not pass by this quote without noting it. " Where had I heard this wind before Change like this to a deeper roar?" "Bereft" by Robert Frost Now I've talked myself in to looking up the whole poem. Hope I can find it online.   Where had I heard this wind before Change like this to a deeper roar? What would it take my standing there for, Holding open a restive door, Looking down hill to a frothy shore? Summer was past and the day was past. Sombre clouds in the west were massed. Out on the porch's sagging floor, Leaves got up in a coil and hissed, Blindly struck at my knee and missed. Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret must be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bereft/  

"All our days are the same until one day when our world turns upside down. This is what happens in Arcadia. Harold and Lucille's son, Jacob, has returned. He hasn't returned from the store or from school. He has returned from the dead. Soon he will become one of the many people who will return from their graves and  go back home to their loved ones. These people will be called "The Returned." Jacob died by drowning in 1966. His father was the last one to hold him. Now, he's alive again. Lucille, Jacob's mother, asks no questions. She's happy to see her son back home again. It doesn't matter that none of this makes sense. Jacob is home again. Therefore, how foolish not to continue on with life as if they had never lost him in the first place. Jacob's father thinks differently. He can't swallow this wild event hook, line and sinker. To Harold, this is not his son. "It's "something else." Harold takes a more philoso

I finished The Returned by Jason Mott. I am still reading The Bachelor by Stephanie Reed. Also reading, All Things Murder by Jeanne Quigley, and Act of Grace by Karen Simpson. http://bookjourney.wordpress.com