"I find I am bizarre. I like it more each day."

Well here I sit in Seattle Washington. The weather cool, cloudy, and rainy. As I suspected I thrive in this weather. So moody and romantic, so me. Our friends Kim and Daniel came and it was a wonderful visit, and much needed company. It was a joy to get to know them better. Looking forward to drinks in Tulsa guys! We are finally wrapping up work here and I had a pretty laid back day. Seems things have been moving at the speed of light, a speed I prefer to be left to those with time traveling abilities. Still, I have been forced to deal and grow. Never a bad thing. Had some time to read today. Went by the book store and picked up some new titles and a puzzle. I've been reading through the Harry Potter series lately and have found them to be delightfully addictive, uplifting and imaginative. Still working through a few other paperbacks, and there is a long list of more building, just waiting to be read. Haven't played my guitar in awhile, sometimes you just step back for no reason, or a reason unknown. I have enjoyed writing more these days and look forward to pursuing it increasingly so in the future. I love dabbling in my hobbies. A little here, a little there. That is when I feel most like myself. When I am writing, or reading, or painting, or singing, movie watching, people watching, loving on my Jason and playing with my animals. Even just doing dishes, or lighting candles around the hotel with a fire in the fire place; warm cookies in the oven. I love mood and sentiment, and lyric, and song. Well anyhow, for whatever that was worth, it felt right to say. I will leave you with some pictures from Seattle and my newest super short story.
Love till later,
LauraAnne





Pacing Still

So little time she finds, feeling wrecked and worn. Time, only a memory now. What little hope she holds onto, tucked away safely. Given to drudgery, a sigh is realized. Abigale waits, listens and stands as still as the water frozen on a lake. Never recalling the moment the solitude sets in. A cold chill on her neck, she flashes her eyes; focused now on the moving object behind the curtains. Too late tonight to know better, she lifts her hand slowly. First to the curtain, then quickly she draws back placing her hand to her lips. She bites her fingernail, her breath slow and deliberate. Someone is there, struggling, making rather a scene even at this hour. But like a trance she watches. Twisted in the curtains Abigale sees Him now. Wide eyed and crazy. The man advancing toward her. Interrupting her solace she is flustered. He smells of garbage sticky and filthy with cheap liquor reeking from the site. Doubting he knows where he is she speaks, "Duvall Library sir," her voice piercing the stale air, a wave of noise rippling the silence. "This is a library." His laugh rings wickedly as he places a quick hand on her own. Abigale jerks away and stumbles. Walking quikly now toward the exit she becomes aware of the stain. Five dark finger prints, dirt mixed with God knows what, smudged on her hand. She makes her way home in the dark, now back in her flat musty and frail. Never cleaning the soot, Abigale simply crawls into bed and sleeps. Listening to the cold, she imagines its raining and the water is washing her away.