Ann Frailey

It took a while to decipher what my brain, the Collective Unconscious, or the Voice of God was telling me.

Swaying branch, Autumn day, Bright sun, Blue way. Thoughts unsettled. Rambling Aimless Noontime crest,…

When I slipped into bed that night, I looked out the window at the sky. Blackness filled the upper echelons of the cityscape, but a few stars twinkled, determined, I guess, not to let the night speak for them.

I recently disconnected from my main social media sites. A death of sorts, pulling the plug on a life support that often drained more than fed. I pondered this move long and hard, making several weak attempts to control my online habit with organized lists, determined parameters, and even a few complete breaks. But like a dysfunctional relationship, I kept going back in the hopes that things would be different. Not this time.

Soul wearies, beauty finds…

The “Is it safe?” comment usually stopped every conversation cold. She glanced aside at the rows of frozen foods. A suitable location, indeed.

“Life isn’t safe, my love.”

“When I look at the picture, I see the me I want to be. I don’t see a stain. I see possibilities.”

Night is a great equalizer. I see why notable writers dare to tread on such sacred, painful ground. None of us live in continual daylight. No one knows all or sees all. Charging ahead in the darkness leads to dangerous falls.