Dee – Wade Adventures

theartofthehand's avatarThe Art of The Hand


This time the lightning shows a boat in the churning bay. Perhaps not a big boat, perhaps not a boat at all. A glimpse is as much as the night allows.  

It keeps Dee at her bedroom window, hand cupped to face, and a robust and a level-headed young woman watching frantic white waves careering ashore, and waiting to be scared. She has done this as a child, nearing thirty she is equally enthralled. Wade, though, curled up on his half of the bed, is stirred when the tumult begins but descends into sleep. She is a light sleeper and he is not, one of many contrasts discovered during their months of living together.  

Storms thrills her and the history of this coast is told in storms. They have redefined the bay, shaped villages, and people’s lives. One great storm plucked a hamlet from its rock and pulverized a harbor…

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The Wild Goose – Anxiety


The irony of your reality is that you think you are living your dream and forging your own path to a destination that is constantly ever changing. A place you are not sure it exists but you feel, and are so convinced that you’ll recognized it when you arrive. A place you would discover so much, create a place for yourself, develops true friendships and relationships…… but there’s still so much of you that feel epically lost, the human equivalent of pocket change discarded in the universes’ cosmic couch and cushions. And here is anxiety, holding up a mirror to all of this when what you need most, desperately, is a signpost. Something to tell you that your true home is just around the bend. 

In avid to find your way out, weighing various options different, you met a friend, one imported from home, exploring yet another gob-smackingly gorgeous location in the same place. You two decide to head up the hill to an older town tinted with medieval fortifications.  Continue reading “The Wild Goose – Anxiety”

Commit that!!


Somewhere in the den as they like to call it, starts with that sound of the cork squeaking out of the bottle, making my heart skip with anticipation.  Even as often as I have heard it, it still feels forbidden thus exciting. As I pour it, the weight of the bottle feels light. Because I can only see one on the table. 

But it’s the first sip that really gets me. The taste of the tart Brown or bitter white on my tongue. The feeling of warmth that coats my belly, gives me the courage and makes me believe I’m funnier. It tells me I’m better with it, and I nod a yes; my head in agreement. I know I should stop at the bottom of the first glass, but I pour another and sometimes another.  For a moment I stop and think, I should stop. Such thoughts disappear when the beer starts to kick in.  Continue reading “Commit that!!”

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