Month: October 2023

It is crazy isn’t it that happiness will never leave. Every memory you look back it all happiness with those special people. ‘Friends’. They always help you from highs and lows. Keeping you close not let anything happen to you. The smallest thing that they will do is to keep you safe. Happiness at every step. Even though they won’t be here with you in real life they will always be in a memory somewhere.

The clouds looked like fluffy cotton, and the moon shined like a beautiful diamond. The ground was covered with a thick, soft layer of snow, and there we were, lying down and laughing while we held our hands.

How did we end up like this?

I’ve loved you since the very first day. I’ve tried to confess my feelings many times, and then there we were. We found ourselves lying down on a pile of doubts while I wondered if you’ll ever be mine.

You stood up and extended your hand, asking if I’d like to dance.

I grabbed your hand and stood up, replying with a smile that I’d be glad to.

A minute later, there we were, moving smoothly through the cold. We left a trace of our steps on the snow as proof of our loyalty to the other. We both knew we had no time left. I loved you, and you told me you did too.

I told you the future scared me, but you held my face with both hands to make me feel better. Soon after, an annoying alarm sounded.

It was 7 am.

I woke up from the sweetest dream ever, confused by how real it felt.

I decided to change my clothes and went to buy some groceries. At the entrance door, I saw something similar to a letter with a heart drawn on the cover.

Was it you? Perhaps I’ll never know.

“Wake up Sven.” Set my father to me. It was morning and the sun began to shine. I ate bread, brown cheese and milk for breakfast whit my father, Ole. A big strong man with long blond hair. My mother and my little brother Lars were still sleeping. We got out of the house and only the fishermen were awake. We walked down to the rocky beach, where our boat was. Her name was “Olivia”. My father chose that name because it was the same name as my mother. The boat was colorful and decorated like the rest of the fisherman’s boat. But only ours had a thig red stripe going around the boat. My father had already but the necessary things yesterday. I was excited, it was my first day of fishing. We sailed to a spot near a rocky cliff. My father said to me “We arrived, now it is your turn Sven” I took the net and put it in the water it in the water. Then we waited and waited. I sit in a corner of the ship. After a while I sleep…

Día de los muertos in english day of the dead, is an important and recognized Mexican tradition. If you have watched Disney movie Coco, you might have a pretty clear idea of what this day is about. Coco a well known Pixar film called the attention worldwide about this Mexican celebration. What is día de los muertos?

The day of the dead is a Mexican tradition celebrated the 1st and 2nd of November. We honour the memories of the people deceased, it is celebrated in all Latin American countries, specially in Mexico where is one of the most important celebrations. Its a colorful celebration with delicious food like calaveritas de azúcar or pan de muertos (if interested google them).  Families gather to create altars in cemeteries. The altars are decorated with food and things that the deceased liked. Cempasúchil flowers, candles, calaveritas de azúcar, pan de muertos and a photograph of the person you are remembering are indispensable in the altar!

The day of the dead is a cheerful celebration in which people believe the spirits of the dead comes back to visit their loved ones.

Stars,

though not all unique to the blind eye,

like snowflakes dotting the sky.

If you don’t look closely you will miss it,

each star has a meaning,

a purpose.

Whether it is to guide you on your journey,

or represent a lost love.

Each star teaches a lesson,

it is up to you to learn it.

-Matteo Eden

They said I wouldn’t make it; I wouldn’t be anything more than rif raf, “street trash” they called me. My name is Lois Van Vlosen and this is the story of me on “the come up”. When I was a young boy, I was extremely privileged, my mother and father, Margret, and Thomas Van Vlosen, provided for my every need, I lived the white picket fence life, no issues, no nonsense. Seeing as I was young, I had no idea of the issues that were happening in my very house.

To be continued…

In the center of the embrace of nature, where peace is king, I find inspiration and comfort. My soul is filled with joyous sounds when I listen to the soothing whispers of the wind, the rustling of leaves, and the lovely melodies of birds.

Every step I take on the twisting trails gets me closer to a secret oasis. I can feel the calm symphony that the water creates as it flows over the rocks. I sit by the water’s side and let its calmness wash over me, relieving my anxieties and reviving my soul.

In the embrace of nature, I discover a sense of belonging as well as tranquility.

It was a clear summer evening in the pond. The sun began to settle under the beautiful view of mount Olympus. The view from her glorious waterfall was something to be in awe. “Cyane? oh Cyane!” a sweet yet exited voice called out to her. “Daphne?” she called back, sweeping her hair to the side to see Daphne splashing in her direction. “Is it Persephone? Is she back?” she called, crossing her fingers. Hades after all had promised she would be back for the summer. Her heart bloomed as she remebered the time the first flowers came to life meaning her return was soon. “She must be by now” Daphne said distracted as she twirled her long blue hair in her pale fingers. Cyane looked at her in confusion for a moment. “You mean you don’t know yet?” Cyane pondered, her gaze shifting to a lily pad near by. Daphne rolled her eyes at her, as she wore her signature smirk of disapproval. “Why would I? Its been months since she’s been here. Just because Demeter hasn’t gotten over her departure doesn’t mean we have to stick our heads in the dump. We’re much too beautiful to be doing something like that Cyane dear”.

Cyane felt a rock of sadness burying into her as she slowly turned around to the edge of the waterfall. Her attention was fixed on the petals of the lily as she  ripped off one on top of the other. “I guess your right” she remarked. Daphne pushed herself though the water gracefully as she landed right next to Cyane. “Anyway… Guess who just go invited to Mount Olympus by the stunning god of the sun” Daphne said smiling broadly, her hand over Cyane’s. Cyane rolled her eyes at Daphne and smiled under her breath. “Your not seriously thinking that Apollo is complete in love with you are you?”. Daphne gasped and splashed the cold spring water at her. “Who wouldn’t Cyane?! Are you saying that I’m unlovable” She demanded sarcastically, her hand flung over her forehead in a dramatic fashion. Cyane giggled as swirled her black hair around in the water. “You know I don’t mean that! Any mortal man would fall head over heels for you but Apollo is just bored. Never trust the Gods, they’ll just rip your hearts out” Cyane thought sadly as the memory of Persephone flashed through her head. No Cyane she never loved you- she was just bored like they all are! Her head cut in before a tear could fall from her eye.

“Well its not like I expect Apollo to love me till the end of time you know. I just enjoy the pampering and attention it comes with dating a god” Daphne said teasingly at Cyane, her eyes wandering to the setting sun. “Anyway” Daphne started, shifting her gaze to Cyane “You’ll get your chance with the gods. Then when you do we can Finally have something to talk about.” Cyane glanced at Daphne’s beaming smile, another picture of Persephone passes through her mind. “You really think so?” Cyane mumbled wistfully. Daphne grabbed her shoulders rapidly. “Listen, with your sky blue eyes and raven black hair, your only moments away from having your first godly boyfriend.” Daphne declared proudly. Cyane forced a laugh and smiled awkwardly. If it weren’t for Daphne’s short attention span, she would have notice the reluctancy in her voice. “As for me” Daphne whispered glancing over her shoulders before focusing her attention of Cyane again “I think It’ll be Ares”. Cyane burst out laughing as the picture of the fierce, fiery-eyed god pushed its way into her brain. Daphne wasn’t laughing. “Oh my gods Daphne, your kidding right?” Cyane giggles wiping tears out of her eyes. Daphne looked slyly at Cyane with a smirk on her face. “Why not, you know he’s always had a thing for big breasts” Cyane’s face turned vermillion red as she sputtered out excuses and questions. The shock of the statement had left Cyane wordless. “I don’t think so Daphne” She said waving her hands in dismay. Daphne only smirked “Oh come on Cyane grow up a little, who’s to say that you can’t score that hunky god”. Cyane pondered it for a moment. It had been months since Persephone left. Maybe it was time she began perusing other gods. Suddenly a familiar voice rang out from the trees. “Cyane?” Cyane whipped her head around to see an amber haired goddess with a gracefully sleek black dress and a familiar round face. “Persephone”.

Do you ever think about how we never fully appreciate a moment until it’s gone? We look back on the past, at moments that may have been melancholy or pulsing with hatred, and we smile (albeit wryly). Sometimes we look back in nostalgia, but either way our memory is embellished, embroidered on the edges like an intricately adorned quilt, changed from a few patches of fabric to delicately sewn artworks. When we first experienced the event, they were just squares of cloth that weren’t particularly special – but after a while, they became so. Even when we appreciate the moment, it’s bittersweet. We know that the time will pass, and though we’re still in the moment, we’re aware it won’t last.

Over time, the colours fade and disappear, and the fragile embroidery is all that is left of the original pattern. I know that so many of the memories I have today will fade and that it is an inevitable part of life, but sometimes I still can’t help from wishing that they wouldn’t: hoping that the colours would stay forever bright, and the quilt would never be tucked into a box in the attic and forgotten; that it wouldn’t be found faded and moth-eaten, years later while looking for mementos to show around, but instead stay in use, something to decorate a room and a reminder of a different time.

In a dark stormy night, across the North Atlantic Ocean there was this enormous cruise that was only for rich people. Most of them were happy and cheerful except for this man, sitting alone at the bar table looking down. You can see he was disappointed or missing someone far away, whom he loved.
This man was so suspicious everybody thought that he was a criminal but all those thoughts were killed because of his beautiful navy colored suit and that particularly small white hat of his. Everybody at that time knew he was a sailor.        The ship was so unstable but why didn’t he go help the captain to control the ship?
What is the story behind all this mysterious man? Let’s see in the next personal writing…

(Note, Volume #3 Will be submitted late by Emmett so do not read this until then.)

Liath was paralyzed on the floor as the Evil Witch Tish prepared to shoot him with an energy blast powered by the purest evil. The cackling witch aimed right between his ribs and released  the deadly blast, but at that moment the no purified Cerbasage, leaped in and took the blast in his place. The Evil Witch Tish wailed as her puppy fell to the floor. Liath knew this was his chance and so he gathered all his energy to teleport to the only person that had a chance to stop Tish, Emmett Hastie. Liath appeared at Emmetts feet and explained to him how the Evil Witch Tish needed to be stopped. Emmett Hastie wasted no time in aiding Liath to a bed then rushing to face the Witch Tish. When Emmett finally found her, he was in shock by the scene. Tish had split into too people, an unconscious pure Tish cradling Cerbasage in her arms, and a now unfiltered absolute evil, Evil Tish Incarnate.

To be Continued on the next Episode

I wake up at a quarter past eight. I feel a cold chill down my back as I lift the warm blanket off of my body. I put on my fuzzy baby blue slippers and turn up the heat in my room. I gently lift the side curtain and peak through the corner of my foggy window to reveal the first snow of winter. Excitement bubbles up inside of me. I rush into the living room hoping to announce the obvious snow to my family in excitement.

Alas, it seemed my whole family was asleep. My father and mother wrapped up in their bed ready to sleep for only the next hour or so. My mother would arise first, she would make herself a cup of tea and sit by our wood burning fireplace. My brother much like a bear in hibernation, would sleep for a few more hours with the heater in his room turned all the way, only coming out when he was hungry.

The fire is still going from the previous night the last of the wood slowly dying away but still providing an appropriate amount of heat to keep the house warm. I decide to stock the fire place as the weather would most likely continue to be below zero. Luckly, my father had brought in some more wood the previous night so I did not need to go outside. I took the block of cedar wood and old newspaper put them into the firebox. The surroundings brightened as the flames rose up. My cat noticed too and waddled over with curiosity. Her black and white fur much resemble that of a cinder. My cat sat down and watched until the large flames died down into small sparks of light around the wood, her curiosity satisfied, she flops down to go to sleep. As I sit here with my cat, the warmth of the fire, and the cold of the outdoors, I think to myself what a perfect morning.

This personal writing I wanted to make it about something that I personally love and enjoy a lot and it’s snow and this is one of the main reasons why I choose Canada to study.

When I was little the thing that I love the most was snow and it still is nowadays, it’s just so magical. The fluffy white flakes falling from the sky covering the ground and turning everything white its incredible. And with the snow, it comes a lot of different and fun activities to do like skiing. I started to ski when I was 4 years old and loved every moment since. I also love that the best season of the year that is Christmas comes with the snow and its a time for all of us to forge connections and be cozy together.

I am so excited for the snowy season to begin, I can’t wait for all the houses to be covered in snow, drink hot chocolate with marshmallows, make snowman’s and have the nose red for the cold.

When I was in Mexico looking on my options of school where I am going to study I just chose Vitoria for the weather, because I watched a new about the city withe the best weather in Canada and it was Victoria. Since I arrived here the most difficult challenge to accustomed me have been the weather, because although I’ve seen in the new that Victoria is the city with the best weather in Canada, here every time is raining different than in mazarían from where I am and also every time I caught a flue and this is very stressful to me because I’ve never caught a flue in Mexico.

The anticipation of Christmas each year is a feeling that stirs within me with an undeniable sense of excitement and hope. It’s not about merely wanting the holiday season to arrive earlier so I can bask in the twinkling lights, fragrant pine trees, or the joy of giving and receiving gifts. No, it’s a deeper yearning, one that transcends the festive decorations and traditions.

Christmas, for me, represents a unique season where the world seems to collectively slow down just a bit. It’s a time when hearts open wider, when acts of kindness and compassion are more readily shared, and when a sense of unity fill the air. As the days grow shorter, the chill in the air becomes more pronounced, and the first snowflakes fall, there’s an undeniable and almost magical transformation that takes place.

The holiday season isn’t just about celebrating the birth of Christ or marking the passing of another year. It’s a time when people, from all walks of life and across the globe, decide to be a little kinder, a little more generous, and a little more understanding. It’s as if the collective spirit of humanity reaches its high point during this time, reminding us of our capacity for love and empathy.

I eagerly anticipate the arrival of Christmas because it’s a season that embodies the very best of humanity. It’s a beacon of light in the darkest of winter nights, a time when we collectively embrace the idea that, despite the challenges and chaos of everyday life, there is still a wellspring of hope within us. So, I long for Christmas to arrive early not to rush through time, but to embrace the spirit of love and unity that it brings, and to be reminded that we can carry that spirit with us in our hearts year-round.

When she was young, she would sit by her cottage window and stare out upon the vast expanse beyond, painting the beauty of nature. The rolling hills and vibrant meadows seemed endless, with the small garden in the backyard sprouting new life. The sun that crested over the mountains and the crisp air against her skin made her feel insignificant in the face of the expansive world ahead. She had no worries or concerns in this place of serenity, with all she had to think about being her next breaths and the beauty of the world depicted by her paintbrush.

As she grew older, she found herself forgetting her place in the world. She no longer visited her little cottage on the hill, and time seemed to slip past her as if she were simply watching herself through someone else’s lens and never truly living. Yet, the memory of those early days in the cottage haunted her like a whisper of forgotten dreams. The bustling city she now called home was a stark contrast to the serenity of her childhood. The incessant honking of cars, the ceaseless chatter of people rushing to and fro, and the relentless demands of work had swallowed her whole.

One night, in her upscale apartment in the centre of the city, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The haunted woman who stared back was a weary stranger, almost completely unrecognizable. She realized at that moment how much time she had spent simply surviving, sleepwalking through life without remembering the importance of her existence; without recalling her aspirations, desires, and hobbies. She had never tried to reconnect with the innocence and wonder of her youth, when she had felt like anything was possible. She yearned to once again become in touch with that side of herself; to return to her cottage and feel the crisp morning air and the warmth of the sun’s rays.

The next day, she decided to return to her childhood cottage. She drove from the city to the countryside, the juxtaposition of the two environments reflecting her own differences. When she arrived, she found the once beautiful place disastrous. The garden, once tended by her loving hands, had fallen into disarray. Weeds and overgrown plants had taken over the plots and once-vibrant flowers. The fields, with no one to cut them, had become a tangle of wild growth. They almost seemed to mirror her own messy life.

Instead of feeling overwhelmed, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work, weeding, soiling, and planting until the garden looked as it once had. Over the course of the weeks she stayed, she worked hard to rekindle the place that she had once loved more than anything. There was much to do in a short time, so she got to work, cutting grass, gardening, refurnishing, and building. By the end of the two weeks, the place was back to its previous state, and so was she.

She felt reacquainted with nature. The long hikes over the rolling hills and early mornings watching the sunrise behind the mountains had made her remember what she loved so much about nature. She regained that sense of insignificance and even found herself painting once more. She was filled with awe and inspiration.

Over this time, she had found a balance between the tranquillity of her childhood and the bustling nature of her present. She realized the importance of carrying this balance with her wherever she went, no matter what her surroundings suggested.

In the end, she had not forgotten her place in the world; instead, she had rediscovered it. Life was no longer something she merely watched pass by; it was something she lived with intention and appreciation, just as she did in her youth.

I recently made a shepherd’s pie, although some may consider it just a pie because I don’t have a shepherd to give it to. If I did have a shepherd, I would name him Joseph, for that’s the name I think of first. But after giving him his name and pie I wouldn’t have the faintest clue what to do with him. Maybe I’d let him wander the fields aimlessly, because I don’t have any sheep for him to herd and a shepherd clearly can’t be a shepherd if he has no sheep to herd. Maybe he would herd my aardvark Davis, albeit knowing Davis, Joseph would probably not be the one doing the herding. Davis is a menace after all. Maybe all Aardvarks are malicious, but then again, maybe it’s only the ones that come from Wisconsin. The aardvarks from Wisconsin are probably just as down about the cold weather as I am. Yes, I conclude, that must be it. The shepherd’s pie has gone cold by now, but I prepare some portions for Davis and me all the same.

When I was little, my parents sent me to a camp in the Carpathians for several weeks. We had to get there by train. In the compartment, I met a girl with whom I became friends. Her mother and little sister were also traveling with us. When we arrived at the camp, I had to share the same room with them. On the last day of the camp, when we were supposed to go back, I woke up very early and couldn’t sleep, so I got bored and thought it would be cool to fake a fall from my bed. So I took a blanket and laid down on the floor, pretending to be asleep, waiting for my friend and her mother to wake up. When they did, they started laughing at me. Everything was fine; we laughed and started packing. In the end, when we left the camp, almost all my friends knew that I had fallen out of bed, and in the train compartment, my seat was secured with straps and all so that I would not SUDDENLY fall on the floor.

It was my worst trip on a train that I ever had. And everything because I decided it would be cool to fake that I fell from the bed.

This days I’ve been reading a book called “Twelve and a half” by Gary Vaynerchuk. The book is about how to create the twelve most important ingredients for business success. The ingredients are, gratitude, self-awareness, accountability, optimism, empathy, kindness, tenacity, curiosity, patience, conviction, humility and ambition. Okey I know that now that I just told you the ingredients you may think that it’s easy to achieve the ingredients, but what this book has showed me is that is harder than that because you also have to use them in your daily routine so you can be successful in business but you can also be successful in life.

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗?

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍.

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚍, 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍, 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚍, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎.

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗?

𝙰𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐?

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗?

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎, 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜.

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗.

-𝚃𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚂.

Once upon time there was a small family who lived together in a small cottage by the seaside where the trees met the seas and everything was calm. There was a man who was a middle-aged fellow who enjoyed to fish. He woke up early each morning to catch fish to feed the couple. His wife was a small old lady who loved to stay at home and read books. They were a nice old couple who lived together happily. One fine morning, the Sun began to rise and it’s golden rays of light were seeping through the trees. The water was still and the horizon was painted a beautiful orange-pink hue which elicited a warm sensation. The man went out with his beloved wife down to the sandy beach to sail. He set the boat into the water and they departed. For hours on end they sailed, when finally, the sun began to set and darkness was approaching, like a curtain being drawn over windows. They returned to the house, where the women went back inside and the man stayed back to fish. He cast his rod forward and patiently waited for a bite. Suddenly, thunder growled behind him, like an angry lion, and the clouds closed-in. The sky turned an eerie grey. It started to pour, with each drop heavily pitter-pattering on the sandy beach. The fisherman walked back up the creaky wooden stairs leading up to his house. He slowly opened the door to the entrance of his house. From there the stormy sea could be seen raging through a giant pane of glass at the back of the house. It was dark and stormy. The man creeped up to the living room to see his beloved wife lying dead on a grey, bloodstained couch. Her eyes half open and her hands sprawled out stiff, as if reaching for something.

Autumn’s Welcome

The autumn breeze caresses my skin,
Reminding me of the memories we’ve had within.
The fading months, one by one,
Announcing that fall has just begun.

The season of family and the celebration of life,
Reminding us all we have everything to suffice.

The festivities of laughter turn to blurs,
Harmonizing with the chatter and symphony of birds.

With pumpkin and spices as the prominent pair,
Nothing can compete with the tart and tangy cider wafting in the air.

Autumn’s promise of crisp wind and chaste leaves,
Scatter in me the seeds, of a thousand saplings.

Withering leaves, turn orange and brown,
dancing in the sky before floating down.
To the glass of dew settled on the ground,
Mimicking the faces of droplets beginning to drown.

The melancholy ending of the harvest stacks,
Is replaced by the cascading sound of raindrops.

The sun still smiles, but weakly now,
As though enchanted by Autumn’s spell.

Under the October twilight sky and the misty fog,
Sits the longing for a cozy fireplace with burning logs.

The pungent odour of burning embers,
With aromas of hickory drifting until late November.
As the smoke dances up, like a murder of crows on the fly.
Yet, it always leaves an echo in the tender char of the morning sky.

– Sophie Wilson

In my house from Mexico I have 1 dog, she’s 5 years old, she’s a Yorkshire and its super small, she likes and playing and running all over my house. I have 2 other dogs, but they’re not in my Mexico’s City house, one of this dogs is a Great Dane and the other one is a Great Pyrenees, this ones are bigger dogs and I love playing with them.

If only I would have listened

to my mother, when she told me not to go.

I wouldn’t have had to feel the sand

slipping through my fingers below.

My father would not have had to come running

to save me from the undertow.

If only I would have listened

to the manager of the shoe store

my shoes could have glistened

before they became christened.

If only I would have listened

to myself when I said stop.

Was that eighteenth piece of chocolate worth the future blood clot?

I think not.