when the cowpoke's grandson started his trip from San Diego to Ottawa he'd finished a fitful vacation there

why he needed to travel a thousand miles to prowl even he couldn't surmise

he'd left his Stang for his 2nd cousin to use and bring up in a month...he knew instinctively as he drove out of sight of that little greasy spoon in Neah Bay that he'd never see that mystical reader of diverse books again

he really was afraid to... complicating relationships were not his game...but as he leaned back into the softness of a rough corduroy cushion she in inexplicably like Autumn's hush entered his mind

a long held wish assailed him and a sudden smell of burned popcorn filled his nose


in his mind he was thinking no no no...no woman could ever complete him

then slowly his eyelids closed as he drifted away....it was a long long ride on the Coastal Starlight to Seattle ....long but expectantly beautiful all along the coastline

so much of the trip was ocean viewing and he never got tired of seeing it

oceans of water to eventually turn to oceans of wheat barley and rape dancing in the winds or being harvested in Canada's heartland....

mountains getting ready for snow...the jagged sawtooths of the Canadian Rockies far surpassed any view of the Rockies below the 49th

sea terns rolling and gliding thru an overcast sky

soon it would be the transcontinental thru Canada to the right coast and the dreams of a prairie boy eager to both love and hate the small towns of the plains

it was difficult learning to speak French..badly at first...then like a Quebec native

when he jumped on the train in Vancouver he had a slight headache so he didn't fight the drooping eyelids

the conductor noticed he'd dropped his sketch book...he picked it up off the floor and laid it on the table before him...when the supper bell chimed the passenger didn't wake up...but the conductor thought little about it as he leaned in to tell him to head for the diner he noticed a smell

the passenger had wet his pants and couldn't be roused

as he drifted away he'd seen her..his muse...enveloped in deathlike irony with ravens flying out of her screaming mouth


was she sending him the final vicious attack??

he had no time left to think about it!

More like this:


richzombie Oct. 2, 2011 @ 4:30 p.m.

quite a story tucked into this snippet -thanks for the sunday enjoyment !!


nan shartel Oct. 3, 2011 @ 1:22 p.m.

yes this mentally mysterious

but oh so ordinary Canadian

is more then meets the eye

and from the sound

of this snippet

it looks as tho

he means to die


nan shartel Oct. 3, 2011 @ 1:24 p.m.

u wonder what was up Quill

looks as if the Canadian may be down for the count

this guy has been a lover and a villain in my work for years...the only unchanging part of his character has been his tendency to be unreadable in what i always hoped was a very readable way


nan shartel Oct. 3, 2011 @ 5:19 p.m.

by the way Quill...my Canadian's name is Booker


Ruth Newell Oct. 3, 2011 @ 5:27 p.m.


Like the piece and hey--that's MY mystery man's name, too! Whaddya know!


nan shartel Oct. 3, 2011 @ 5:30 p.m.

brilliant minds yada yada yada ;-D)

thx roody


Ruth Newell Oct. 3, 2011 @ 5:29 p.m.

And I loved the line burned popcorn line...by the by...


nan shartel Oct. 3, 2011 @ 5:42 p.m.

the burned popcorn line is real ...it's a smell many people have when an aneurysm burst in their brains


nan shartel Oct. 3, 2011 @ 10:15 p.m.

that's how carefully i do the research on what i write Roody

nah...hhahahahahahahahahahaha...i just have ubermedical expertise from 30 years working in the medical field ;-D

but Booker isn't dead yet

he hasn't died in 10 years and he's not dying now if this writer has anything to do with it

now the damage to his brain...er..um...that's yet to be written


Dadler Oct. 6, 2011 @ 9:07 p.m.

I think that cleared something outta my soul. Clutter. Too many pinecones collected when I was a kid, whom I'd since forgotten I'd even forgotten.


nan shartel Oct. 7, 2011 @ 11:01 a.m.

let's hope a burtsting brain aneurysm isn't the answer 2 long lost or forgotten pinecones Dadler...

perhaps we r sometimes silly squirrels who gather 2 much against the hunger of the coming winter of our souls

considering the difficulties of many of us with the anesthesia drugs (pills and alcohol) trying to forget is an epidemic 4 some

many don't know that if all the liquid was taken out of alcohol it become ether

storing the memories away and then revisiting them from time to time to glean new enlightenment works better

of course Booker won't have that opportunity...


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