• Who We Are

  • Schedule

    Mondays ~
    Tuesdays ~ Snarky
    Wednesdays ~ Dreamer
    Thursdays ~ Naughty
    Fridays ~ Dreary
    Saturdays ~
    Sundays ~

    Whenever ~ Smokey, Mighty, Eerie and Wicked

  • Snarky’s Tweets

  • Kinetic’s Tweets

  • Dreamer’s Tweets

  • Wicked’s Tweets

  • Eerie’s Tweets

  • Mighty’s Tweets

Another Day at the Swamp

I sip my hot chocolate, savoring it both in my mind and my mouth.  The past few weeks have been a whirlwind.  Writing has fallen from one of my top priorities to no more than a stray thought every time I glance towards my computer.  Angel Boy is growing more feathers and has no desire to do anything but sit in my lap.  Everyone keeps telling me to enjoy these moments, and I do, but as he naps I wait impatiently for Lady to arrive.

Hearing a knock at my door, I slurp down the rest of my hot chocolate and practically run to the entryway.

“You’re here!” I exclaim, throwing open the door.

Lady smiles at me.  “Been a rough few weeks?”

I grab my purse and shrug.  “It doesn’t really matter, because I have two whole hours to myself.”

She laughs.  “Okay, okay, don’t let me slow you down.  Go enjoy your freedom.”

I bolt out the door and don’t even look back as I race out to my Volvo.  Within minutes, the sound of my upgraded stereo blaring drones out any thoughts.  The colors of the Swamp blur past me, and I take in everything with the awe of a prisoner just released.

As I round a corner, I spot a garden of exquisite flowers peeking through the trees.  Feeling adventurous, I pull over.  Some pop song I haven’t heard in ages dies as I switch off the engine.

Taking a deep breath, I climb out of the car.  The flowers are at the edge of an unwelcoming area of the Swamp, and I’m feeling jittery as I stare at them.  I hesitate, for just a minute, my hand lingering over my door handle.  But, nothing sinister pops from the shadows.

Moving towards the flowers, I weave between trees and stop at the edge of some murky water.  Leaning down, I breathe in the sweet scent of a rather perfect looking red flower.  This little garden is in such odds with this shadowy piece of forest, and I again find myself surprised by the diversity of our new home.

Studying the flower for a few quiet moments, I decided, quite impulsively, to pick the beautiful thing.  The stem feels surprisingly slimy between my fingertips, but what did I expect from swamp flowers?

Heading back to my car, I feel proud to have ventured deeper into the Swamp all on my own.  I shake my head and almost laugh at how nervous I’d been to enter.

“That’s my flower.”

I freeze, without turning around.  The voice is rough and gurgles, almost like the speaker’s mouth is full of water.  I hear the person, man or woman I’m unsure, moving towards me, and I take a deep breath.  Time to meet one of my new neighbors.

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