Happy New Year.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Wolf Hiding

Wolf Hiding

Cincinnati Zoo

Wolves. Wolves and hawks. My spirit animals. It switches around, it seems. Sometimes geese, ducks, dogs, tigers, cats, a rooster, you name it. Whatever gets my attention. God reaches out to me in so many ways. Truly, I feel like someone is watching over me, sending me messengers.

I think that it takes me longer to bundle up for my walk than it does for me to do my actual walk. It's been in the single digits around these parts, and with the wind chill, it's been negative. But it's worth it. The quiet is surreal, because not many brave souls are out. Not even my hawks are around.

The sunrise was amazing this morning.

On the writing front...I started a new project. Looks like it'll be Book 4 at some point. Just working on the first twenty pages or so, and I'm going slowly on it. Still tinkering away at getting Book 3 out there as well. Might have to revise it, not sure yet. Frustrated sometimes with that, but I keep trooping along. Because it's my dream.

The holidays were super busy for me this year. That's not the usual case, but life changes you, aye? I'm content, and I feel loved and blessed. I hope you feel peaceful. And somewhat wild, like me.

Thanks for reading. Much love,

C.A. MacConnell

A Good Hand.

She’s not playing any

War.

Maybe some stray cats suck cigars.
They like to bet.
They like to watch.
Others play poker in the
Basement.

She returns for

More.

Maybe some like to
Fish.
Maybe by the river, an all-day game
With the packed cooler,
And the bait,
And the hook.

Always, she wishes for a good

Hand.

She can’t live

With the broken zipper.
The only fix
Is the face, and some kind of

Reality, like blue
Eyeshadow.

-- C.A. MacConnell

P.S. "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." - Eleanor Roosevelt

Photo: Hawk

Hawk

Lunken Airport

This guy's there to show all the planes what it's really like to fly.

C.A. MacConnell

Every Day.

Have a good time with family and friends during the holidays! A new year is approaching fast.

Within nature, every day is a miracle.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lunken

Lunken

C.A. MacConnell

Happy Holidays!

Happy holidays!

I know what you want for you and your loved ones! My books! 

 If you read along, you'll become part of some magnificent adventures, I promise you. 

You can find GRIFFIN FARM here. 

You can find THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR here. 

Descriptions of the novels as well as details on purchasing are provided by the link. Very smooth and simple to order, I tell you. Both are in paperback. Griffin's available on Kindle as well. Anchor will become an Ebook soon. 

I hope you join the journey and purchase these great books during this holiday season. And as always, tell your friends. Spread the word!

Much love to you and your families and friends, wherever you choose to go, however you celebrate. May peace, love, and happiness fill up your lives.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Untitled.

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Secrets

C.A. MacConnell

Cape

Hi there. Poem I wrote just now. Little flash poetry session. Hope you like it. Poetry helps my writing get back in gear...you know...focus on each little word and line, the rhythm of it all. Hope you're having a good day. I feel blessed, truly. Love, C.A.

Cape

I have heard this yelling:

blue eyes make me weep
in the morning's brittle garden,
in the wind's canine chill,
in the hungry afternoon,
in the vapor-rich night,
in the screen of the sky's sea --
how it pours forth the gray coat --
in the almost-accident,
in the azure sunset,
in the sure, little death
of each and every sleep,
in the wicked toss to wake,
and in the backache stretch
to rise. Tear off the sheets.
We wear secret, golden skins. 
Some call us sun and moon.

See the baby in the cape.

C. A. MacConnell

Photo: Garden Shack

 

Ye Olde Garden Shack

Milford, OH 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Parade Girl

Parade Girl

Cincinnati, OH

20,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Abby

Abby

C.A. MacConnell

Well, Look at You.

My Friend Argo

Well, Look at You

Today, I was in line at the "self-checkout" at the grocery, which is where I always go, because I must, I must fill my bags a certain way. Anyway, at first, there weren't any checkout stations available, so I waited at the front of the "robotish self-checkout" in that space that's really part of the grocery aisle. I'm sure most shoppers know the feeling. When I stand there, random shoppers try to come through, and usually one or two appear with the "kid car-cart," and they barrel on in, and I'm totally in the way. Every time.

Yes, in the way, I scanned the stations. Still nothing open.

But when I looked at the station directly to the right, I saw a short-haired, thin woman slowly checking out, filling up her bags, pressing the buttons on the screen, heading for the credit card machine. Her movements were slow, jerky, slow. And by her side, stretched out on the floor, looking regal, there was a tan, medium-sized, pointy-eared, beautiful service dog. He wore a crimson coat with a tag that read, "Ask to pet me. I'm friendly."

To the dog, I said, "Well, look at you. You're so beautiful." 

Then the dog turned his head and looked at me through incredibly soulful, black eyes, and he rose up. Ever so gently, he began to approach me.

So I asked the woman, "Can I pet him while he's working?" 

She smiled wide and said, "Yes, you can." 

The dog came closer, and he rubbed his nose on my leg. Then he looked at me again as if to say, "Go ahead, touch me. But only you." 

So I did. I told him I loved him. I could have stayed there all day.

Now, what I didn't realize was that while all of this spiritual dog energy was going on, several checkout stations had become open, and the line was growing and growing behind me. I didn't care. I was having a moment -- a silent connection with this dog -- and it meant the world to me.

But just then, the woman behind me angrily asked, "Are you going to check out?"

With that, I jumped, rolled my cart forward, and the dog seemed to smile, heading back to his owner's side. I looked back at the line, whispered, "Sorry," and moved to an open station. Indeed, I knew I was caught up. See, the past two days had been rough, and for that minute, when I was connecting with the dog, I forgot about my restless mind. I forgot that I was at the grocery. Indeed, I lost all sense of time and place. All that mattered was the innocent creature in front of me...and the love coming from his eyes. He was so incredibly gentle and kind with me. 

And I thought, Hey, world, that is God.

All the way home, I felt the connection stay with me. See, ever since I was a little girl, I've often connected more with animals than with humans. And some particular animals strike me more than others, just as some people hit my heart harder than others. All creatures have their awesome personalities, their trials, triumphs, and quirks. And all are so unique. And yet each and every being understands the language of love. Truly, the Spirit of the Universe speaks to me through the eyes of so many creatures.

Well, look at you. You're so beautiful.

C.A. MacConnell

False Events Appearing Real.

Fear. For the past few days, I've been all in my head about certain situations. Over Thanksgiving as well, now that I think about it. But none of the things I was worried about were real fears; that is, none of them were things I was presently facing...right here, right now. They were all "future events appearing real."

When I told others what I was thinking, I heard this:  That's never happened to me in 70 years, Give yourself a break, and What can you do about any of it right now?

In all truthfulness, there's nothing I can or need to do about any of it right now. So what helps? Telling on myself. Telling others the thoughts that are running around in my head. Letting go of the shame about my thoughts and putting it all out there to someone I trust. This seems to alleviate some of the stress.

Now, this is something I learned years ago, so why does it always seem so difficult? I suppose I worry of judgement. Or I worry that I may "bother someone." Things of this nature. But when I think about the times that others have called on me for the same reason, I've never felt annoyed or judgemental. I've felt honored that someone would trust me with their deepest pains.

So, today, give yourself a break. If you're struggling, find someone you trust and let it all out. Sharing takes the power out of fear, I've found. Allow yourself the opportunity to reach out and be healed.

I hope you find love and peace today,
C.A. MacConnell

Caricature.

Caricature by Petlowany

:)

Black Draft

C.A. MacConnell

Roanoke Star

Roanoke Star, Mill Mountain

Roanoke, VA

B/W film, Nikon. Up close, day time, this is what it looks like. From far away, at night, it is a wildly bright star on the top of the mountain, and you can see it all over the city. Not sure why it was built, but it always brought me a strange sense of comfort when I lived there on and off for 7 years. I'd like to be there right now, actually. My heart lives in the mountains of Virginia, for sure, all the time. I'll have a little house there someday.

Happy Thanksgiving to you. I plan on seeing a movie, actually, ha. I'm usually odd man out.

Want to go?

:)

May love fill your heart.
C.A. MacConnell

Fiction: Dirty Turkey

Here's a short story for you, a fiction sample. Your not-so-usual holiday story. Be prepared. Ha. Hope you dig it. Love, C.A.

Dirty Turkey

Thanksgiving break. Evening in Jaytown, flocks of college kids browsed the stores and each other. Back home, each year, Rose became one smooth deal hunter. Her jeans were the black, skinny kind -- straight-legged and tight. Casually dressed to kill, she was window-shopping until some voice came at her from behind, the way she liked it.

“Hey!” he yelled.

She whipped around. "Hey yourself," she said to the man in the new T-bird. The car wore temporary tags.

She looked him over. Fresh meat, she thought, grinning. He was young, around her age, nineteen, and his build was hardly bigger than hers. He sank low in the leather seats of his crimson car. His hair was her brown shade. His wild brows weren't plucked, like hers. His shirt was red and fading, bleeding like hers.

Waiting for him, she leaned back against a storefront, restless. Maybe she’d buy a thumb ring later. Maybe skateboarders would soar and wreck, nursing breaks and bruises on Jaytown's streets. She never knew what characters would appear or vanish. She looked at her watch. Dad might ground her if she were out too late.

Hand at her chin, she studied him.

He parked crooked as hell. He was half-baked. He wasn’t careful.

She liked this.

When he climbed out of the car and reached for her, his shake was firm, like hers. “I'm Billy,” he said, raising a brow. “You look familiar." Billy touched her wrist, which cracked.

In his hand, her wrist became weak and fragile, like a wishbone. For a moment, she liked this too. "I'm Rose," she said, grinning. He seemed like a good egg. And when he touched her hair, she felt a shock, which was strange. She liked strange birds.

His eyes turned round and large, nearly buckeyes. "Come with me," Billy said, tugging her small wrist.

Meeting Billy was a good excuse to avoid home. Dad was usually out. Or making juice or eating tofu, watching Survivor, just checking out. Mom checked out too. Ten years back, on Thanksgiving, raspberries were on sale again. What a deal. Mom went to pick some up, planning for Dad’s special pies, but she never returned. Around twelve items or less, Mom disappeared. Dad let the turkey burn, burn, char in the oven. Dad still called her "missing;" he still put up signs. Rose couldn't picture Mom anymore. Rose only saw smoke.

Past the ghetto mart, past the people gliding through auto-doors like shopper hawks, Billy led her into Jaytown's famous ice cream shop. They shared a cone, berry sorbet.

Rose called it a date. Each year, back home, around the fourth Thursday in November, she had dates like this. She grinned, reminiscing. She checked the wall clock. She knew she had to either push this one in the oven or let it sit. She checked her watch, scratching her head. She would already be in trouble by then. Might as well stay out.

Backtracking, they paused in an underground parking garage until it became a deserted maze. Sex began with the slight tearing of shirts until both were bare, focused on skin grabbing. Billy let her suck on his finger. He let her suck.

Rose discovered that Billy was the sweaty kind – nearly cooking. And Rose discovered that someone had written Bush Sucks on the wall in black. Overhead on a fire escape, a couple fought until breakables began breaking.

Billy scooped his arms above her, making weird wings. Then he reached down, gripping her wrists, pinning her down on the ground.

It was hot, mad, wet, rough, and then her body became his giant skin pillow.

His chest, his body curves fit hers.

She wondered if she'd see him again. She fell asleep wondering.

--

Stiffly, she woke. It wasn’t that cold out, but Rose shivered. The world was hardly lit. She squinted to see. She was whale-hungry, chewing stale gum. She looked at her weak wrist. It was 9 a.m.

Billy slept spread-eagled on the blacktop. Then he came to, rubbing his buckeyes, moving his mouth like hers. Chewy.

Quickly, they dressed before crowds or cops appeared.

Her car had a fresh ticket. Using a rust crayon she found in the gutter, she scribbled her number on the back of the ticket, handing it to Billy, saying, "That's me." Rose sat in her car, wondering if Dad would ground her for staying out. That turkey.

Blocking traffic, Billy leaned at her window, hovering and shifting like a drug dealer. He said, “I’ll call,” and his buckeyes loomed at the surrounding traffic. All around, drivers’ faces burned red, trapped in various road rage stages. "I will," he said. Then he kissed her. Then he paused. Then he kissed her again. “I’ll call,” Billy said again. Then he shot away, heading for his T-bird, heading for the highway.

She didn't believe him. She never believed those turkeys. No matter how good they tasted, the seasoning was never quite right. Gripping the wheel so tight that her wrist, her wishbone, hurt, she noticed that her red shirt was too loose, too faded. It wasn't hers. It was Billy’s. She should give it back. She smiled. She followed him. She was close. Too close.

His lead foot was serious, like hers. Deep into the back roads, Billy flew easily until he couldn’t take the curves.

She tailed him. She was close. Too close. She watched him weave, trying to lose her, but she grinned at the game. She knew these moves, these streets; they were all a familiar recipe.

The T-bird screeched, wobbled, then flipped like a toy, landing upside down. The car was no more than shredded, splintered metal. A smoldering nest.

Pulling over, Rose's body simmered, shaking out a small earthquake. She listened for Billy’s life signs, blinking repeatedly. No movement, no life, no breath. So much smoke, so much black ash mascara. Her eyes smarted, taking the burn. Her eyes leaked, crying and drying. One thing was clear – another turkey was burning. It was too late for Rose to check out. Dad might ground her. Dad sent Mom out for raspberries. He had to have them. Twelve items or less. I’ll call. I will. That liar. All those liars. Express checkout, motherfucker. She shrugged, running her hands together – slap, slap, slap – then licking them clean. All she had to do was speed and wait and watch the time, and this dirty bird was done. She clapped, just once, feeling suddenly sleepy.

Rose's U-turn was hard. She scanned the road, studying the cars, the colors, the metal skins. She knew how to pick a bird. She followed another car. She could see the back window, then the plates, then the driver’s hair -- tangled with angry wings, beyond help with flyaways. She was close. Too close. Rose was one deal hunter. She smiled, red-faced and whale-hungry again, her teeth tearing through stale gum.

This was a rare one. The head was feathered messy, out of control, like hers. Rose looked at her watch.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Kylin, FB.

Yesterday was the anniversary of when I lost my writing partner, Kylin, pictured above. Today, celebrate the most soulful connections in your life.

C.A. MacConnell